


I Don't Know How To Say No To This

by herculesmulligan1781



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Relationship Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 37,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herculesmulligan1781/pseuds/herculesmulligan1781
Summary: Adam and Ronan are recruited by their best friends to work on Senator Gansey’s pet project, a summer theatre program production of Grease in Boston for high school teens.Or: What might have happened if Adam and Blue met Ronan and Gansey the summer after their freshman year of college.The college/theatre(ish) AU zero people requested * Hamilton-adjacent * (honestly, if you didn’t see that coming I’m not sure what to say) * Implied/Referenced/Narrated Broadway Musicals * Non-magical * boat shoes * golf cart * sketches * lobster rolls * coveralls * road trip * angst-laden avoidance * obligatory OC love interest for Adam * inordinately self-indulgent *





	1. That Would Be Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue and Adam decide to stay in Boston for the summer. Blue finds a project to take on, then needs Adam's help.

“Seriously?” Adam says, his voice skirling upward, incredulous. “That sounds like my idea of hell. How can you even stand there and ask me?” He feels the familiar flush of agitation creeping up his neck, blooming on his ears.

Blue frowns. She had not expected him to say anything but yes. She sighs.

“Please, Adam?” There’s an undercurrent of irritation in her voice that she thinks she’s hiding.

He scrubs a hand through dusty hair that is shaggy and in need of a cut. He can't believe Blue sought him out after her costume meeting, that she didn't wait to ask him at home. He walks over to the workbench, his back to Blue, and returns the tools he's been using to his toolbox.

"I'm dying to go," she says quietly. Adam's hands rest on the workbench for a moment. "I can't afford those tickets, which - you’re aware. I know you're not invested in seeing _Hamilton_ , but it would mean the world to me."

“He’s paying for all this, isn’t he?” Adam asks. He resumes gathering his tools.

Blue sighs again. “Yes. Of course. That bothers me a little.”

Adam huffs, and Blue huffs back.

“But - it’s _Hamilton_.” He’s sure Blue can hear his eyes rolling.

He turns around, leans his ass against the workbench, crosses his arms.

“Why are you letting him sponsor this experience? And why do I have to go?”

"I want to see this show. In New York. On Broadway," she says, the irritation surfacing. "If you go with me it's just - better. I want to go, but I'm not sure I want to be alone with him that long - or that I like the implications if I'm the only one who goes." She looks at the tools hanging on the shop wall behind his shoulder. He's fairly sure the main reason she wants him to go is so he won't be alone for two days in the city. She's made every effort to ensure he doesn't spend too much time by himself, especially if he has to walk anywhere.

“Any idea how much I detest the thought of being a third wheel in NYC for you and Richard Campbell Gansey III? At a Broadway show?”

“You won’t be a third wheel,” she tells him, “Gansey’s bringing someone, too.”

Adam frowns. “If there’s already someone else going, then surely my presence isn’t required.”

Blue shakes her head. "Your presence is absolutely required."

The discussion has gone from irritating to exasperating. "My presence is desired, but not required. Clearly. You'll be fine," Adam decides, turning back to his tools.

Her voice dips into petulance. “I won’t be fine,” Blue says behind him.

He feels her arms go around him from behind; her cheek lays against his back.

“Please,” she says against his tee shirt. “I need you, Adam.”

A realization presents itself to him. “You’re into Gansey, aren’t you?”

Blue whines pitifully.

“How is that possible?” He turns to face her again, mostly so she’ll stop hugging him.

“I’m not sure,” she admits, her brow creased, blushing slightly. “But I’m - intrigued. I want to see what happens. And I want to see _Hamilton_. And you have to go.” He knows she’d cut out her tongue before she’d make this about his safety.

“I can’t even -,” he starts, then remembers. “Who is Gansey bringing?”

~~~

Adam and Blue decided to stay in Boston for the summer after their freshman year of university, both unenthusiastic about returning to Henrietta after finally acclimating to life in a big city. Blue was interested in bigger experiences during the free time summer would allow her; Boston would certainly provide bigger experiences. Adam simply never wanted to go back.

Just before the end of the spring semester, Blue met Adam for lunch and told him about a summer program she'd discovered.

“Huh. Theatre,” Adam had said.

“For inner city kids, yeah,” Blue said, poking through her salad until she speared a mushroom. “This is the first production. _Grease_. I’m on the costume team.”

"So you're going to shred the T-Birds' leather jackets?" he asked, smirking before taking a huge bite of his burger.

"Ha," Blue said. "No, I'm assigned to costumes for two specific scenes." She thought for a moment. "I'm excited. Never really had time to indulge my interest in theatre before."

"Well," Adam drawled, his warm grin widening across his face. "You found the right opportunity. Good for you."

Two weeks after the end of the school year she came back to their tiny apartment following the first production meeting.

"So, I need to ask you for a favor," she said to him, sinking into the other lawn chair on their terrace, which was barely large enough to accommodate two lawn chairs. She scooped a spoonful of the yogurt she had brought with her. He slid the index card he used for a bookmark into the copy of _The Ocean at the End of the Lane_ he'd spent the evening reading.

“We’ve got a great production team, really great people,” she started. Her eyes snapped with excitement. “But there’s one spot we need to fill.”

“I’m no good at costumes,” he said, shaking his head, “You’ll need to find someone else.”

“Not costumes,” Blue said, “The car.”

"What?" he said, confused.

"We need someone with some expertise to build Greased Lightning. The car. It's an important piece of the show."

He breathed out a small laugh. "I do know what Greased Lightning is." He remembered the VHS copy of the movie he'd gotten at the thrift store when he was a kid.

He looked up at the night sky, forgetting all the light noise that blocked his view of the stars. “You’re asking me to build it?” he said, turning his gaze back to her, a note of doubt snaking through the question.

“Yes,” she said. “Would you be interested at all? Most of us are working on the show in the evenings. You’ve got time for that after your shifts at the garage, right?” She eyed the book in his lap; her question held a note of hope.

"Hmm," he said. "Maybe? Let me think about it, and I'll let you know tomorrow."

Blue smiled, her face aglow, around another spoonful of yogurt.

~~~

Blue yelped and pumped her fist in the air.

“You’re really on board?”

Adam nodded. “It happened kind of fast,” he said with half a smile. “Thanks for coaching me on using his last name.”

Richard Campbell Gansey. The third.

Blue told Gansey Adam might be interested in working on Greased Lightning; they’d met to discuss Adam’s involvement.

Gansey’s mother, the senator, funds the theatre program and Gansey’s been dispatched to run things. He's from an old-money family and looks it. Brown hair with the requisite expensive cut. Energetic hazel gaze. Coral polo shirt. Plaid shorts. Top-Siders. _Top-Siders._ Politeness thick enough to slice.

Adam's familiarity with that particular look had sharpened over the last year.

“He just finished his first year at Harvard, too,” Adam said.

“I think I knew that. Maybe?” Blue said. “I probably should have mentioned it.”

“It’s okay. We got around to that.”

They’d spent some time commiserating over a simultaneous first year before Gansey welcomed him to the team and invited him to the upcoming production meeting.

Which is where things almost went entirely to hell.


	2. Meet Him Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam attends his first production meeting. Gansey introduces him to Ronan. Impossibility ensues.

Ronan Lynch was completely impossible. Adam learned this at their first meeting.

 Blue and Adam arrive a little early for the production meeting, held in a small conference room above the small theatre that’s been leased for the duration of the project. They take seats together on the right, at the opposite end of the table from where Gansey has taken up the entire end of the conference table.

 Gansey starts the meeting once most of the chairs have filled.

 "I think there are some who will be here a bit late, but let's get started," he says with a broad campaign-trail smile.

 Adam monitors the discussion with the director and the choreographer regarding upcoming auditions. It doesn't involve him, so he gets out graph paper to continue his preliminary drafts of Greased Lightning, passing the time productively until the discussion turns to his area. Beside him, Blue has not missed a word, her focus on the proceedings intent.

 Just as they set the audition panel, the door opens. Adam looks up from his graph paper to see a thug walk into the room. For a strange second, he wonders if they are in any danger. But Gansey exchanges a look with the thug and smiles, mid-sentence. The thug juts his chin in Gansey’s direction then looks for a seat. He takes one directly across the table from Adam. He extracts a folder from his battered messenger bag and slaps it on the table before slouching back into his chair.

 Blue reaches over to write on Adam’s graph paper with a purple art pencil: _Ronan = set designer_.

 Adam nods at her note and returns to his drafting.

 Eventually, the discussion turns to Adam’s assigned duties.

 "I'd like to introduce Adam Parrish," Gansey says, gesturing to where Adam sits. "Thanks to Blue Sargent, he'll be designing and building Greased Lightning." The others applaud and smile and look Adam's way, so he gives them a small smile and a wave.

 "Adam, you'll want to talk to Ronan Lynch, he's our set designer," Gansey says, gesturing across the table. When Adam glances over, he finds Ronan's gaze on him, ice blue and intense. All of Ronan seems intense: his shaved head, the black v-neck tee shirt, his obviously expensive black jeans, the thick black ink hugging his neck, the well-worn combat boots that made his footsteps around the conference table leaden and deliberate. He's a study in black and blue.  "Ronan, you and Adam can go over your respective designs after the meeting and come up with a timetable and a work schedule." Adam and Ronan nod at each other.

  When Gansey concludes the meeting, Adam turns to Blue. “I’m going to talk to the set designer, I guess.” He shrugs and then starts to gather his things. “Not sure how long I’ll be, but I’ll try to make it quick.”

 “I’ll wait,” Blue says, telling Adam what he needs to hear.

 Before he stands up, he leans closer to Blue and asks “Will he bite?” It’s only half a joke.

 “No idea, this is the first time I’ve seen him.” She pulls Adam into a side hug. “You’re going to have to find out for both of us.”

 Ronan is perched on the sill of a small window at the back of the room talking to Gansey. Ronan is frowning slightly, but Gansey's smile is bulletproof.

 “Adam,” Gansey says when he walks over, “This is my good friend Ronan Lynch.”

 Up close Ronan is beyond intense, bristling with brazen energy.

 Adam eyes Ronan, who eyes him back, still frowning.

 Gansey completes the circuit with a reverse introduction. “Ronan, Adam Parrish.”

 Ronan’s gaze rakes swiftly from Adam’s eyes down his frame and back to his eyes. Inside that gaze, Adam feels translated, assessed, categorized. He’s worked long and hard paving over all the Virginian dirt, but Ronan’s eyes bore through everything. Too late, he shutters the gaze that resolutely meets Ronan’s. Adam doesn’t understand why, but Ronan unnerves him in ways that wealthy, entitled boys have never approached.

 "Parrish," Ronan says, his voice flat, rasping like sandpaper.

 "Adam is a fellow Harvard sufferer," Gansey explains to Ronan, who's mouth sets in a grim straight line, "Ronan just finished his first year at RISD," Gansey says turning to Adam. "I have coerced him into staying with me this summer for the sake of our project. I'm happy to have him use his gifts for good for a change." Gansey aims his congressional smile at Ronan once again, who looks harassed.

Still stinging from the frank scrutiny, Adam doesn’t know what else to do but get right to the point. “I’ve started on some designs if you want to take a look,” he says to Ronan, a remnant of his Henrietta diffidence edging his voice.

“I will leave you both to it, then,” Gansey says, clapping Adam on the shoulder and heading toward the knot of people gathered around the director. Maybe he imagines it, but Gansey might have shot a warning look at Ronan as he turned to go. Wariness settles on Adam’s shoulder like a mantle.

 “Let me see what you’ve got,” Ronan says, extending his hand. Adam shuffles his things and awkwardly hands him the pad of graph paper.

 While Ronan bends his head to consider the design, Adam feels his ears begin to go hot.

 “The fuck,” Ronan growls low, “Why is my name on this page?” He only looks up when he’s done speaking, his eyes narrowed and glacial.

 Shame needles down Adam's spine even though there's nothing to be ashamed of. Muscle memory.

 “Oh,” he responds barely above a whisper before clearing his throat and continuing with more volume, “That was Blue. She was helping me get up to speed during this meeting.”

 Ronan’s expression is unyielding. Adam will not look away.

 The silence has already extended too long for Adam to complete this thought, but he does it anyway. “Since I was brought on to the project late.”

 Ronan stares, unblinking, for several more moments before handing the graph paper pad back so forcefully it hits Adam in the chest. "You'll need to rework this," Ronan says before turning to dig in his messenger bag.

 The shame flares into anger now. Adam's learned to handle the condescension of Harvard boys in the last year, but this guy is deliberate about being a prick. Adam draws on skills he learned well in the trailer park, pushing the hot anger aside to get through this exchange.

 "Re-work?" Adam repeats, unable to help his frown.

 “Here,” Ronan says, dragging a binder out of his bag. He flips it open to show Adam diagrams of the set.

 “The car needs to fit through here,” Ronan says, pointing. “The scale needs to be smaller.”

 Adam makes himself consider the diagrams, process the scale and dimensions. He forces himself to look up at Ronan again, still working to contain the white-hot ember of his anger.

 "It might be easier for me to come up with something that fits if I have a copy of these," he states, keeping his voice flat. "While I'm reworking."

 “Give me your email,” Ronan says, flipping the page over to the blank backside, his tone commanding, “and not in fucking purple pencil. I’ll send you copies later tonight.”

 Adam writes his address, in stark black ink. Ronan says "Send me your re-worked design by Friday; then we can set up a build schedule."

 Adam says only “Sure,” then turns to find Blue so they can get the hell out of here.  

 


	3. Hold Your Nose and Close Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gansey tries to keep Adam on the team by arranging dinner with Blue, Adam, and Ronan.

Apparently, he is here because he’d been impossible at the production meeting.

Apparently, Adam told Blue on their way home after the meeting that the set designer was insufferable and he was done. Blue had, apparently, convinced him not to quit and then discussed the issue with Gansey.

And Gansey had taken matters into his own hands.

This is why he's sitting beside Gansey in a fucking dive, waiting on Blue and Adam so they can all order pizza. And bond, apparently. 

Ronan huffs around the leather bands he’s chewing.

“Stop that,” Gansey tells him without even looking at him.

He glares at Gansey, who is still not looking, over his leather bands.

Gansey elbows him in the ribs to emphasize the fact that Blue and Adam have stepped inside the door. Ronan drops his hand to the tabletop and rolls his eyes, mostly to himself, one last time.

He glances at them as they are approaching the table. If Adam's expression is anything to go by, Ronan is not the only one who doesn't want to be here. Good. Dinner could turn out to be blessedly fucking short.

Except it doesn’t.

When Gansey finishes his welcoming committee routine, Blue exchanges some swift and weighty looks with Adam then places a hand on his elbow; he slides into the booth first.

Adam’s back is straight and his shoulders are squared when he meets Ronan’s eyes across the table. There’s some flint in those grey-blue eyes. Ronan watches the muscles in his jaw flex before Adam turns to look at Gansey, who is yapping at Blue. Her dark hair is sticking up haphazardly, poorly contained by a myriad of clips. She’s smiling with some serious wattage. 

"I scrounged up some great pieces during a thrift store crawl last night,” she tells him. “I sent pics, but I can’t wait for Gavin to see them.”

Ronan plucks a menu from the stack against the wall and scans it while the costume conversation grinds along.

“How is the progress on Greased Lightning?” he hears Gansey ask as he’s reading about the Scoville scale rating for the peppers that could find their way on to his pizza. Gansey already knows about Greased Lighting because they discussed it on the way over here, so Ronan keeps reading because this has to be an attempt to engage Adam.

When he realizes that silence is rapidly expanding, his head snaps up out of the menu. Adam is looking at him, his expression unreadable. Blue’s also looking at him, her eyebrows raised. He knows before he turns that Gansey’s face is politely stern.

“The car’s on track,” he says, his voice gravel. “Parrish sent me the updated design yesterday, and we’ll have a build schedule by Monday.”

"Good work," Gansey says, beaming at Adam. "I'm so grateful Blue brought you and your talents to the project."

An awkward pause follows Coach Gansey’s pep talk until he takes the menu from Ronan’s hands.

“Let’s order. What do you both like on your pizza?”

After Gansey places their order, he chatters with Blue about their favorite musicals. Adam watches the conversation between Blue and Gansey without contributing.

Ronan promised Gansey he wouldn’t gnaw on his leather bands during this dinner travesty (“It makes you look like a feral animal trying to chew through a limb.”), so he’s compensating by continuously bouncing his knee under the table and watching the sidewalk traffic through the window. 

Boredom is crawling up Ronan's spine and spreading under his skin. He considers, for a moment, the level of his boredom. Is he indifferent? Apathetic? Yes. All this forced civility will probably translate into a long, fast, loud drive later.

Gansey’s only involved in this project because his mother requested his assistance. Ronan’s only involved as a favor to Gansey. Well, and it’s something of a challenge. He’s never designed a set before, and it won’t hurt his portfolio to have something like this under his belt.

Still. It's a lot of work. At least there's space and excellent light in Gansey's loft where he can lose himself in his art when the project isn't demanding his time. Like now.

He's not sure what the deal is with Parrish. He's not sure why it's so important to Gansey to keep him on the project, but it is. And yes, he'd been an asshole at the production meeting. Seeing his name handwritten on Parrish's design felt intrusive, made him defensive. Gansey understands he's an asshole, so he wasn't surprised. But Gansey's expecting him to make nice, even though he knows Ronan excels at assholery. Gansey hasn't asked him to make nice before, not on this level.

Once the pizza arrives Ronan grabs two slices and tunes back in. Gansey is making another attempt to engage Adam.

“What are you doing with your summer when you aren’t building set pieces?” 

"I'm working full time at a garage. It's putting a sublet roof over our heads." Adam smiles at Blue when she bumps her shoulder against his. That smile transforms his face, melts away the stony set of his jaw and the flint from his eyes. It's an easy, languid smile he's exchanged with Blue thousands of times.

Ronan signals the waiter for a second beer. Bless his resemblance to Declan and his graphic arts skills for producing an amazingly authentic fake ID. 

“Half a sublet roof,” Blue tells Gansey, laughing. “I’m paying for the other half.”

"How egalitarian," Ronan says, saluting them both with his near-empty beer bottle before draining it. His voice drips with acid. It's not a compliment.

When he puts the bottle down, there are two sets of frowns across the table.

“ _ Ronan _ ,” Gansey says his voice low and laden with authority. Like it always is when Gansey thinks he’s gone too far.

Ronan looks at Blue and says, “My default setting is asshole,” with a barbed smile. He slides his gaze over to Adam, whose frown deepens.  _ Shit. _ He has gone rapidly in the opposite direction of making nice.

“That, unfortunately, is as close to an apology as Ronan gets,” Gansey tells Blue and Adam, who both look down at the table. Moments drag by in silence and tension.

“Look,” Gansey starts, “Ronan is a - “

"Gansey, don't," Ronan says, cutting him off. He sighs, then continues. "I'm sorry," he says, brusque, as he looks Adam in the eye. "I'm not great with new people." 

Gansey huffs elegantly.

“The project - we - need your help. I promise I’ll -” he stops, searching for the right words, “I’ll be less asshole and more set designer.” Ronan watches Adam’s frown ease a bit. 

Even to Ronan's ears it was reluctant, maybe grudging, unpracticed, and wholly uncomfortable, but it qualified - barely - as an actual apology.

Adam closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to level a serious “you’d better” look at  Ronan. “Okay, then,” he tells Ronan, adding a tight smile before extending his hand across the table. Ronan lets go of the beer bottle he’s been wallowing and shakes Adam’s hand.

“Jesus Christ,” Gansey says in wonderment, mostly to himself.

The waiter arrives with Ronan’s beer. After a long pull, he looks again at Adam, who has a mouthful of pizza.

“You work on cars?” he says. It’s stupid and obvious, but it’s all he can think to say.

Adam nods. “Yeah,” he drawls, his accent as languid as the smile he gave Blue. “Kind of a hobby and a vocation. At least until I get my degree.” His mouth quirks just a little. 

“You should have Gansey show you his ride,” Ronan tells him. He grins sharply, “Hell-tinged ‘73 Camaro.” 

Adam's eyebrows shoot up. "Excellent choice," he says with admiration.

They look at one another, ice blue meeting grey-blue, holding. 

“There’s still plenty of pizza,” Gansey tells both Adam and Blue. “Please,” he says, pushing the pizza across the table. Adam looks away from Ronan to take another slice.

Ronan’s stomach unclenches a little as Gansey tells Adam about the Pig. 

_ Shit. _ That had been agonizing. He had  _ apologized _ . It seems to have been enough to make nice with the others, to redeem himself with Gansey.

Ronan finishes his beer, mostly listening as the conversation goes on around him. Gansey eventually makes him tell the story about the cops helping them clear out the old factory they lived in during their prep school days, and Adam and Blue both laugh in all the right places. 

They continue to talk around the table even after the pizza is gone. Ronan can’t remember when his knee stopped its constant motion.

Later when they step outside into the warm evening, Gansey and Blue are arguing cheerfully over which orphans, those from  _ Annie _ or those from  _ Oliver! _ , would win if pitted against one another.

Ronan glances at Adam; that placid expression impressive for someone whose girlfriend seems to be flirting with Gansey.

Gansey and Blue stop ahead of Ronan and Adam at the entrance to the parking garage, laughing as they settle the Great Orphan Debate.

“We’ll have a build schedule by Monday?” Adam asks him. Ronan is surprised Adam retained that tidbit after all the discussion tonight.

“Sure,” Ronan says, still watching Blue and Gansey. “I’ll email it to you tomorrow.” He thinks for a moment and then adds, “Look it over and let me know if something doesn’t work for you.” Less asshole, more set designer.

He turns then to look at Adam. “Tonight was good,” he says.

Adam gives him a small smile. “Yeah,” he says. “Should be a great project.”

Ronan smirks. “Fucking theatre nerds,” he growls with an indulgent glance at Blue and Gansey.

Adam laughs. “‘Night,” he drawls, as he walks ahead to join Blue.


	4. A Tolerance For Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan arrives at the shop while Adam is working on Greased Lightning.

After a busy day at the garage, Adam finds himself wrestling with golf cart parts in the theatre workshop.

Gansey brought the cart in from God-knows-where, an ancient model that needs work before it will run. If it will run. The plan is to build the cart into a drivable Greased Lightning, but there's no use building up a cart that’s shot.

Ronan’s email had arrived as promised. Adam found Ronan’s written communication to be just as terse as anything Ronan had spoken; he’d attached a PDF of the schedule to an email that read “Let me know if this works.”

 _Maybe “terse” isn’t kind,_ Adam thinks. _Maybe "succinct" is better_ . He’s actively working on urging himself away from his aversion to Ronan, choosing to take the high road. He thinks they achieved neutral ground after dinner the other night, but it was a near thing that could have exploded in their faces. Ronan had managed to avoid being a prick since their detente - but it had only been five days. _That's almost a week_ , Adam reminds himself in his continued effort to be generous.

The seat is pulled out, and he's bent over removing the old batteries when he hears someone calling from the other end of the large workshop.

“Anyone the fuck at home?” Ronan shouts as Adam sets the old battery on the floor.

Adam steels himself as he straightens up and turns in Ronan’s direction. _Let’s see how this goes._

“Over here,” Adam calls back.

He hears the muffled thump of Ronan's boots on the old linoleum as he approaches. When Ronan steps around the tall tool cabinet, his arms are wrapped around a large box. Ronan peeks over the top to find free space on the workbench where it lands with a crash.

“Bearing gifts?” Adam says, raising an eyebrow at the box.

“Kind of,” Ronan says. His glance takes in Adam’s thin blue tee shirt, the work-grimed coveralls tied at his waist. Adam feels a prickle of self-consciousness at the back of his neck which dies as quickly as it blooms when Ronan reaches into the box and presents something to him.

“Vintage steering wheel. Nice,” Adam says, admiring it as Ronan rotates it between his palms. “Where did you find that?”

"Someone Gansey's father knows," Ronan tells him with a half shrug. "It's a little chewed up," Ronan explains, showing Adam the nicks and gouges, "but we'll make it look nice enough to use instead of the steering wheel on the cart. Sexier," Ronan says with that wicked smile.

Ronan’s gaze slides over to the cart, the removed seat, the old battery on the floor next to a rear wheel. He puts the steering wheel back in the box and walks over to peer into the compartment.

Ronan is, again, clad in black, which is all Adam has ever seen him wear. This time he’s in a tank top which exposes more of the ink on his neck and shoulders. Adam can’t tell what the design is, exactly, but it’s razor sharp and dark like the man who wears it. Adam is sure Ronan designed it himself, sure that it functions like the ridged exoskeleton of a bark scorpion. Adam wonders how far down Ronan’s back that ink crawls.

“You’ve got a new ones, right?” Ronan asks.

“Yeah,” Adam confirms, indicating the new batteries when Ronan turns to look at him. “Just started yanked the old ones before you got here.” He grabs his towel from where it sits on top of a shop stool and begins to wipe his hands.

“Shit,” Ronan says, “almost forgot.” He’s back at the workbench with his hand inside the box.

“Break time,” he tells Adam, extracting a brown bag that smells truly glorious.    

Ronan digs two bundles wrapped in white paper from the bag, extending one to Adam. “Lobster rolls,” he says, smirking. “Here, take this.”

Adam hesitates. “Do you always carry lobster rolls with you?”

“Fuck, no,” Ronan scoffs. “Gansey asked me to bring something back for him, and I’m too damned starved to wait until I get back to the loft. Seriously, Parrish,” Ronan says, “take this.”

Adam shakes his head. "I don't want to eat Gansey's dinner."

“You aren’t,” Ronan sounds annoyed, “there’s plenty.” He emphatically extends the lobster roll to Adam again. “Christ, will you just -”

Adam takes it, cradling it awkwardly against his chest.

"Hold on," he says, setting the lobster roll on the squat shop stool. "If you're providing dinner, I'll buy drinks." Adam hurries through the shop door and up the stairs to the second floor. _Has_ Ronan _just brought in dinner - and offered to share?_ Quite un-prick-like. As he slides coins into the soda machine, he wonders again how long this will last, how long before the prick shoe drops? He returns to the shop with two cold sodas.

In his absence Ronan had placed an order of fries next to the lobster roll on the shop stool; Ronan is bent over the workbench industriously chewing a mouthful of sandwich.

Adam tosses a cold can to Ronan before he lowers himself to sit on the shop floor next to the stool that holds his food. The fries smell heavenly, and the grease spot on the underside of the container promises they will taste as heavenly as they smell.

“Uh...thanks,” Adam says over his shoulder while he unrolls the white paper, his back to the workbench.

Adam hears rustling behind him, then Ronan lowers himself to the floor across from Adam, balancing his food precariously until he settles it on the floor beside his knee.

"No problem," Ronan says, his mouth still partially full. He opens his soda can with a crack that echoes through the shop, then takes a long drink. He tosses some ketchup packets on the small stool next to Adam's fries.

Ronan's dragging three fries through an ocean of ketchup when Adam makes a noise of delight.

“God,” Adam says around the lobster roll, “this is damn good.” He closes his eyes in bliss.

When Ronan huffs in return, he sounds pleased with himself.

“Any idea when you’ll know if that piece of shit works?” Ronan asks, jutting his chin to indicate the golf cart.

“I’ll know something later, after I’ve looked it over and monkeyed with it,” Adam says.

They chew together as silence drapes itself over them. Adam concentrates on eating his meal and tries not to wonder what’s gotten into Ronan.

Ronan fidgets with his soda can. “How long have you worked on cars?” he asks.

Adam shrugs one shoulder. “My dad taught me some basic things when I was little,” he says in a remote way that he can’t seem to avoid when he talks about his past. “When I was older I poked around on my own for a while. One of my middle school teachers had a brother who owned a shop in town. He let me help out after school, taught me a lot.” He bites off half a fry and talks around it. “That turned into a part-time job just before high school, full-time in the summer.” He pauses for a minute before adding, “Helped me put myself through prep school.”

During the last year at Harvard, he has occasionally felt the need to make sure those wealthy, privileged boys know his circumstance, know who they are talking to, know the mountain of shit he has slogged through to stand shoulder to shoulder with them. He presses the bruise of his upbringing this way, to watch it change color, to feel the tender flash of pain. He wants Ronan to know.

Ronan frowns. “You put _yourself_ through prep school?”

Adam nods, meeting Ronan’s eyes.

“Damn,” Ronan says. Ronan’s gaze is weighty, almost tangible. Adam thinks he might see some respect in that gaze.

"Making progress on the set?" Adam asks before he looks away, takes a drink. He's done pressing his bruise.

Ronan grunts. “Some,” he says. “Working with the build crew right now, getting things put together. I can’t paint things that don’t fucking exist,” he says in irritation. “Also trying to find pieces we can use - like that steering wheel.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Adam says, gathering up the wrappers that remain after he’s finished his meal.

“It fucking is,” Ronan says. “The things we do for theatre nerds.”

Adam genuinely laughs at that, shaking his head. “I thought your motivation would be different than mine. Guess not,” he says, grinning.

“This is all Gansey’s fault,” Ronan says, rolling his eyes. “It will be good in my portfolio, but...yeah, Gansey.”

“RISD, right?” Adam asks. “What do you want to do after you graduate?”

Ronan smirks. “OK, Harvard man, I hear a ‘do you want fries with that’ comment lurking in there somewhere.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Adam insists, embarrassment blooming in his cheeks. He shrugs one shoulder. “Art is pretty far from my wheelhouse. I can’t discuss it intelligently.”

“I don’t think anyone can,” Ronan tells him in a strangely sincere voice. “The ugly truth, Parrish, is that I have to get a degree to access my trust fund.”

“Oh. So the degree is a means to an end for you?”

“Mostly,” Ronan agrees. “I have to meet the conditions of the will, and art is something I’ve always done, so it was a convenient choice.”

"I don't have personal experience with trust fund hurdles. Your parents are strict?" Adam remembers the Parrish brand of strictness, and how it was imposed.

“They weren’t, no.” Something in the ice of his eyes shifts just before he looks down at the floor. “But now that they’re gone, I’m left with this bitch of a condition.” Brittleness edges his voice.

“Damn,” Adam breathes. “I’m sorry.”

Ronan nods. His fingers absently fiddle with the leather bands at his wrist.

"Hell, Parrish, stop looking at me like that," he says with a wry smirk, still focused on the floor. "It happened, it was fucking miserable...it's still fucking miserable sometimes." His voice has dropped to a scraping rasp. "I was a mess for about a year, a real goddamn asshole. But I live with it. Gansey made sure of that."

Each of them looks at different sections of the floor in the weighty stillness that's gathered in the shop. Adam’s mind scrambles to process the last few moments. Ronan’s stark sincerity is arresting enough, let alone the substantial information he’s just offered. Adam’s too thunderstruck to respond right away.

The strip of sky visible through the high windows has gone dark while they've been sitting here; the fluorescent lights are brighter as they hum overhead. When the stillness presses in on Adam's shoulders, he looks up.

“Wait. You were an even bigger asshole? Is that actually possible?”

He manages to keep his tone and his expression deadpan long enough for Ronan to look up at him, then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. The complicated thing in Ronan’s eyes dissolves when his blade-edged smile appears.

"I'd say ‘fuck you, Parrish,'" Ronan says in a sandpaper growl, "but since you don't have a trust fund, you're fucked already." That smile has the wattage of a laser.

Adam somehow understands that if Ronan meant his words to wound he’d feel stung. Adam can’t help the smile smearing across his own mouth.

“Well,” Adam says getting to his feet and tossing the crumpled paper from his meal into the trash, “duty calls.” He picks up the towel again to wipe the french fry grease from his fingers.

Ronan stands. He wipes his hands on his jeans. “I should get Dick his dinner. His fries are cold now, anyway. Sucks to be him.”

Adam quirks an eyebrow. “You call him _Dick_?”

“Someone has to.”

“Fair enough.”

They stand facing one another for a few uncomfortable moments.

“Thanks again for the sandwich,” Adam says.

“Sure,” Ronan says. “Good luck with that hunk of junk.” He digs the brown bag out of the large box; the heavy tread of his boots recedes across the floor and through the shop door as Adam turns to pick up a new battery.


	5. A Revel with Some Rebels on a Hot Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gansey throws a kick-off party for the project; Adam’s past rears its ugly head.

Thank fuck Gansey scheduled this rooftop party for the evening. Darkness will descend soon, following behind the sun when it finally drops behind the skyline. The rooftop is only tolerable after dark.

Ronan leans against the wall next to the door of the stairwell that leads to the roof, watching those gathered. The show is cast, and the real work will begin on Monday. Before that, though, Coach Gansey has assembled the production team for some scheduled camaraderie. Ronan is not a social creature, but Coach wants him to be present. And so he is present.

Gavin, the costume designer, volunteered to serve as grill master for the evening. He’s working hard on the other side of the rooftop patio, a cluster of women laughing and drinking around him as he cycles hamburgers, vegan and bovine, on and off the grill.

Gansey is in host mode, circulating the patio, talking to everyone in turn. His host orbit frequently intersects with Blue’s. They bend their heads toward one another, each of them wearing a smile. They laugh and talk together like conspirators until Gansey moves on to the next party guests. Then back to Blue.

Ronan wonders if Parrish is aware of this yet.

He scans the patio once more but sees no sign of Adam. He didn't ask Gansey, but he wonders?- not for the first time - if Adam will be here later. Maybe he's not going to be here at all.

He hasn't run into Adam since that night he shared his lobster rolls. He’s made himself avoid running into Adam since that night he shared his lobster rolls - with a side of entirely too much information. He still can't believe he told Parrish about losing his parents. He sizzles with embarrassment every time he thinks about it. He needs to quit thinking about it, pretend it didn't happen.

He shakes his head to banish these thoughts. He walks around the corner to the small space between the stairwell and the squat parapet that borders the roof and picks up the sketchbook and pencils he'd left there earlier. Parking himself where the wall makes a corner, he begins to sketch the skyline just for something to do, something to engage his hands and occupy his mind.

He’s lost in his work by the time the voices reach him.

“Jesus, Adam,” he hears Blue say.

Ronan stiffens and stops drawing.

"I'm okay," he hears Adam tell her. His annoyance is evident, but there's a tremor underneath it.

"You are not okay. Look at you."

He hears Adam suck in a breath before hissing “Stop.”

"Did he choke you? Do you know you're bruised?" Blue's voice is hushed but high and frantic.

“He didn’t choke me, exactly,” Adam qualifies. There’s a pause before he continues. “He cornered me and kissed me.” Misery soaks his voice.

Ronan feels ice bloom in his gut just as Blue says “Bastard.” It sounds like she spits the word.

“He caught up with me two blocks from the apartment,” Adam tells her. “He grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go. Same thing, apologizing and begging me to forgive him, all that shit. I tried to get away, but he pushed me up against a wall and…” Adam doesn’t finish.

Ronan’s pulse surges and hammers.

“I kneed him and ran like hell.” It comes out raw, nearly bloody. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Ronan hears Adam gulp air.

“Fuck, Adam, don’t apologize.” Her voice wavers strangely.

Ronan’s never heard Blue say “fuck.”

“Here, come here,” she says, “let’s…”

She's around the corner in a flash, leading Adam by the hand, standing in the small space where Ronan sits. They both stop. Blue's face - eyes wide, mouth open, cheeks ablaze -  tells Ronan she knows he overheard.

Ronan's eyes flick over to Adam. His dust-colored, too-long hair is windblown and haphazard. Four small bruises blossom on the right side of his neck. Misery settles in the depths of his grey-blue eyes. "God _dammit_ ,” Adam says, almost under his breath, before his eyes flutter shut. He begins to tremble.

Adam drops Blue’s hand and is gone before Ronan can comprehend the fact that he’s moved. Ronan shoots past Blue in time to see the stairwell door slowly swinging shut; he keeps moving, yanking the door back open. “Adam!” he calls, plunging down the stairs two at a time.

He catches up with Adam a flight and a half down, just below the door to the loft. “Adam, hey,” he says, reaching out to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

Adam whirls, throwing his hand off. “Don’t,” he grunts. He scowls at Ronan, his face dark with rage, his chest heaving.

Ronan holds his hands up level with his face, palms outward toward Adam. He doesn’t know how long they stand there, how long he meets Adam’s scathing gaze before Blue speaks behind him.

“Adam. Don’t you dare go.”

Ronan lowers his hands and steps aside to let Blue get to Adam.

“I should never have come here,” Adam grinds out between his teeth, his eyes still focused on Ronan.

Blue shakes her head. “Going back to the apartment alone would have been a mistake,” she tells him. “Coming here was the right thing to do.”

“But he heard,” Adam says, finally turning his gaze to Blue. His hands are fisted so tightly at his sides his knuckles are white.

Blue chooses to ignore this. “Come back upstairs. Sit with me. Let’s see if we can watch the stars come out.” She holds a hand out to him.

His hands open, one reaching out to take Blue’s, the other going to his neck.

“I don’t want anyone to…” He doesn’t finish.

“Blue,” Ronan nearly whispers, “you can go to the loft if you want. It’s quiet. And private.”

Adam jerks his eyes back to Ronan but doesn’t say anything.

Blue nods. “Let’s do that,” she says to Adam. “Come sit with me in the loft.”

Adam lets Blue lead him back up the stairs. They pause in front of the door to let Ronan open it.

"You can use my room if you want," Ronan tells Blue, keeping his voice quiet, keeping his eyes from straying to Adam. "It would give you the most privacy."

When Blue nods again, Ronan leads them across the open first floor to the stairway. At the second floor landing, he opens the first door on the left and flips the light on before they go in ahead of Ronan.

“The bathroom is there,” Ronan tells Blue, indicating a door on the opposite wall. “Use whatever you need, stay as long as you want.”

“Thanks, Ronan,” she says as he moves back toward the door.

“I’ll be downstairs or in my studio down the hall if you need anything,” he says over his shoulder before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

 

 


	6. Put a Pencil to His Temple, Connected it to His Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan steps up to help Adam during the party - and in the middle of the night.

He rises slowly toward consciousness, like a diver to the surface, smelling coffee. And maybe eggs.

Ronan opens his eyes, registers the fact that he’s on the couch, then shuts them again when the memory of last night bursts through his brain like a bullet. He rolls onto his side, covering his head with the blanket.

He lays there, letting the rage and the helplessness settle back into his chest. His skin still feels too tight.

"I'm assuming you're awake under there," Gansey says. The coffee aroma suddenly gets stronger. Ronan merely grunts.

The chair gives a faint protest as Gansey sits.

“They’re still here,” Gansey tells him. Gansey’s voice has sounded that weary only one other time: in the warehouse apartment the evening of Ronan’s parents’ funeral.

Ronan tosses off the blanket, squinting against the sunlight coming through the wall of windows. His feet find the floor. He buries his face in his hands.

“Shit,” he growls, “what time is it?”

“Nine,” Gansey says. “Drink your coffee.”

Ronan looks up to find a mug on the coffee table in front of him. He reaches for it then takes a careful sip.

Blue and Adam had eventually fallen asleep in his king size bed, under his silky black comforter.

Sometime after Ronan had escorted them to his room, Blue had gone back up to the roof to let Gansey know she was downstairs with Adam. She hadn’t told Gansey everything about why; just enough for him to know that Adam needed her.  

She'd found Ronan in his studio on her way back to his room. He'd been itching to leave, to drive until his singed heart cooled off and his skin didn't feel too tight, but he'd told Blue he'd be in the loft if she - if Parrish - needed anything. So he'd settled for using the punching bag for an hour, a shower in Gansey's bathroom, and drawing most of the night. The wholesome coping mechanisms didn't help enough but were good for occupying time. Bent over his drafting table, two sketches in, he'd finally noticed her at the door and pulled off his headphones.

“Ronan?” Her voice had been calm, sure; no longer the mess it had been on the roof.

“How’s Parrish?” he’d asked, putting down his pencil.

She crossed the studio floor to stand next to the table. "Better," she said, nodding. "He showered; I hope that's okay."

“Yeah,” Ronan said, “of course. Help yourselves to whatever.”

“He already did,” Blue told him. “He changed into one of your tee shirts and some sweats. Well,” she shrugged, “I made him.”

Ronan smirked. “No problem.” His fingers were twisting the leather looped at his wrist.

“We’re at the mindless tv stage now,” she disclosed.

Her eyes drifted to Ronan's sketch in progress, and she stared absently for several moments.

"Blue," he started, his voice hoarse, "I feel like shit about overhearing you. Adam. And you." He swallowed. "It wasn't on purpose."

"He's so private," she explained. "Especially about -, " she took a moment to decide how much to say, " - this. He keeps too much to himself," she added, frowning. “He’s angry, but I don’t think he’s angry with you.” 

“Hell, I don’t blame him for being angry,” Ronan told her, “I just fucking hate how it happened.”

"I hate that sick bastard Jared," she'd said, nails and dynamite in her eyes. "And I hate what he's done to Adam." She'd reached out to touch Ronan's hand for an instant. "What happened on the roof couldn't be helped. It wasn't your fault." 

Ronan just stared at the place where Blue’s hand had touched him. He wanted to know who Jared was and what the hell else he’d done to Adam, but he’d known better than to ask.

“Well, I’m going to get back to him,” she’d said, taking a step backward. “Thank you, again, for the safe space.”

“No problem,” he’d said again as she left the studio.

He’d pulled his headphones back on, turned the volume up a little higher, and moved his pencil across paper until Gansey had wandered in once the party was over.

“Everything okay down here?” he’d asked.

Ronan shrugged. “Did Blue talk to you?”

“A bit. Do you know what happened?” Concern had been splattered all over his face.

“Parrish had a bad run-in with someone, and I was in the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time when he told Blue about it.” 

Gansey’s eyebrows had shot up. Ronan had scrubbed his hands over his head.

“Jesus Christ.”

Ronan had picked up his pencil again later when Gansey retreated to his room and didn’t stop drawing until his wrist started to ache a dozen sketches later.

Since Blue and Parrish were still in his room, he had gone down to the first floor for what remained of the night. It was cool and dark, the white-noise hum of the fridge blending into the stillness. 

He shucked his jeans and yanked his tee shirt off, leaving them where they landed. He should have thought to get pajama pants from his room earlier, but boxers would have to do for his exile on the couch. 

When Adam had come downstairs, Ronan was resting his forehead against the window, gazing out at the nighttime city with a half-finished beer in his hand.

Ronan heard him clear his throat quietly from behind the couch, had turned to watch him emerge from the shadows into the dim light spilling in from the windows.

"Okay if I grab a water?" Adam says, his voice sleepy Southern honey, his hair a mess, Ronan's own clothes hanging from his smaller frame. He looked like he'd managed to get some sleep, even if he was awake now.

“Sure,” Ronan said, “get whatever you need.”

He’d watched Adam pull a bottle of water from the fridge then drink half of it at once before turning back to face Ronan. Adam held the water bottle in one hand and leaned on the kitchen island with the other. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think anyone would be awake.” His expression was unreadable.

Ronan's pulse picked up. "Nothing to apologize for," he rumbled. He gulped down some beer then added: "There's plenty of food if you're hungry." He'd concentrated on keeping his tone neutral. That Parrish wasn't visibly angry or at his throat seemed improbable to Ronan, but he'd be damned if he'd do anything now to disturb whatever fragile peace Parrish has scraped up.

Quiet had deepened and grown between them. He'd started to wonder if Adam was ignoring him until he drawled "Is there peanut butter?" Ronan hadn't been able to stop himself from grinning in the dark.

“Yeah,” he said, walking from the window toward the kitchen, "the cabinet on your right.”

While Parrish was pulling the jar from the shelf, Ronan walked around the opposite side of the island to open a different cabinet and place something on the counter.

"There's bread if you'd rather not eat it with a spoon," he said, sliding it closer to Parrish. Ronan pointed with his beer bottle. "Knives in that drawer."

Parrish hadn't spoken while he constructed his sandwich. Ronan leaned back against the counter and attended to his beer; watched covertly as Parrish applied peanut butter to one slice, topped it with a second slice, then cut it in half. Adam returned the jar to the shelf before he'd started on the sandwich.

Only the sandwich and the bottle moved as they’d stood at the counter in the dark kitchen, the silence practically whining in Ronan’s ears. Parrish had eaten in a careful, deliberate way that indicated he was merely interested in appeasing his empty stomach, that enjoying or tasting his food was immaterial.

When the urge to speak backed up in Ronan's throat and burned in his chest, he had swallowed down beer to drown it. He so seldom wanted or needed to say anything to anyone; the nagging urgency had been unfamiliar and unsettling. He wanted to tell Parrish that he hadn't meant to overhear that conversation, that the thought of anyone assaulting Adam enraged him, that he would gladly take this shitstain out, that he never wants Adam's face to wear the contorted misery he'd witnessed in the stairwell. He hadn't dared utter any of it, not in that fragile hour. Probably not in any hour.

When Adam had finished his sandwich, he faced Ronan, the light from the window dusting his cheekbones, highlighting the crease between his brows, his mouth. 

“Thank you,” he’d said, his voice flat but not hardened, not hateful.

“Of course,” Ronan replied, just above a sandpaper whisper. When Adam had turned to leave, he’d added, “Sleep well, Parrish.”

Adam had stopped walking and turned his head back toward Ronan. After an eternity he had said, very gently, “‘Night, Ronan.”


	7. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everyone wakes up at the loft.

Blue comes downstairs at noon.

Gansey instantly snaps into host mode, inquiring after Blue’s well-being, Adam’s well-being, if they slept well, if there is anything he could do. He also offers Ronan’s room for as long as they might need it. Ronan doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow in protest.

When Blue says Adam is getting dressed upstairs and they’ll be going home when he’s ready, Gansey offers the leftovers from last night for lunch.

Blue frowns at his back as he heads into the kitchen, looks at Ronan, and shrugs. “I’ll ask him,” she says, “but he’s feeling embarrassed, so I don’t know if he’ll want to stay.”

"Why the hell would he feel embarrassed?" Ronan asks. The anger that lodged back in his chest when he woke up heats red-hot. He can't stand it that this fucking thing binds Adam. He can't stand the thought of Adam getting dressed upstairs feeling embarrassed for something he has no fucking reason to feel embarrassed about. He feels the need to break something violently, but won't while Adam is still upstairs.

Blue frowns at Ronan. “That’s Adam, that’s how he feels,” she tells him in a tone that makes Ronan think maybe she feels some hot anger in her own chest. “He’s proud of being self-sufficient and it makes him feel weak to need or receive help. Even mine.”

She must see more in Ronan’s eyes than he intends.

“I know,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He just makes things so difficult for himself. It’s hard.” Her eyes shine wetly and she glances upward at the ceiling.

"I need to go ask him if he wants to stay for lunch," she says, sighing. "Please don't let the wall he's built around himself upset you. I'm so grateful to you for last night. What you did was amazing. It was the right thing to do, the best thing for him even if Adam doesn’t feel good about it right now.”

She hurries to the stairway and up to the second floor.

Ronan is off the couch, pacing in front of the window. Thank fuck Blue disappeared upstairs so quickly. He can’t remember the last time anyone thanked him out loud. Her gratitude is an alien thing that doesn’t quite make sense; he feels uneasy with it, almost annoyed.

And that comment about Adam’s defenses. 

Given the asshole quotient when they’d met and the cautious way Parrish already behaves with him, Ronan thinks it’s likely Adam will leave the project after the events of last night. 

It had weighed on him in the wee hours on the couch. He’d thought about jumping through Gansey’s hoops to keep Parrish from quitting. He’d thought about the shape of his own anger and what it would drive him to do. He’d been ignorant entirely about navigating Adam’s raw fury and had no idea what might follow now in its wake.

He doesn’t understand why Parrish feels embarrassed, or why he wasn’t angry in the kitchen last night. His mind is cramped and weary from trying to untangle this knot that won’t yield.

He stops pacing when he replays Blue’s advice in his head.  _ Please don’t let the wall he’s built around himself upset you.  _ Maybe that’s it. Maybe there’s a way around- or over or through -  that wall. 

~~~

Ronan waits until later when Gansey leaves with Blue and Adam to drive them home, then snatches his keys and heads out in the BMW.

He prefers to drive in the middle of the night instead of the middle of the afternoon, but he’s been desperate for this ever since he caught up to Parrish in the stairwell and he can’t wait any longer.

Music throbs through the speakers, and he focuses on that for a while instead of the intense frustration and gross insufficiency of the last several hours. After a hundred miles or so, when his skin fits again, and he no longer feels singed raw, his thoughts drift back to Parrish.

Adam had agreed to stay for lunch but had taken only a hamburger and a handful of chips then sat in a living room chair to eat - away from Blue's bright chatter with Gansey in the kitchen about the events from the night before. Ronan had heaped his plate with everything and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He'd dropped back into his place on the couch, deposited his plate on the coffee table and propped his bare feet next to his plate while taking a long drink.

He'd glanced at Parrish when he sat the beer down then picked up his plate, taking in the impassive face, the shuttered eyes. Adam chewed thoughtfully, his unfocused eyes looking at nothing in particular.

Adam's reticence might have provoked Ronan after peanut butter in the dark, made him want to poke and prod until Adam reacted. He would have needled Adam that very minute if Blue hadn't pointed out Adam's considerable defenses. Ronan decided the same caution that worked in the middle of the night worked in the middle of the afternoon. He'd stayed on the couch near Adam, kept his sarcastic sniping of the conversation in the kitchen to a minimum, and hadn't required Adam to engage; he'd hoped Parrish would somehow know that Ronan built him this cocoon from support.

Gansey had offered to drive them back without uttering the words "safe" or "worried;"  A long moment passed before Parrish had said only "Okay." Before they left, Ronan had shoved his hands in his pockets and told Parrish,“I’ll be by tomorrow night to check on that piece of shit in the shop.” He’d gotten a tight smile and another “Okay,” from Parrish before Gansey whisked him out the door.

With the sun setting in his rearview Ronan rockets back to the loft the long way. He thinks he knows where Blue and Parrish live; he might drive by once he’s back in the city. For shits and giggles.


	8. Fan This Spark Into a Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real work on the project begins.

Ronan finds Adam methodically wiping down the left rear brake assembly the next evening.

He barks out a “Hey,” making Adam turn and squint upward.

“Hey,” Adam says before getting to his feet.

Ronan’s expression is strange for a moment, then he smirks. Adam thinks Ronan might have just taken physical inventory: five fingers on each hand, no facial injuries, all limbs operational. This scrutiny might make Adam angry, except Ronan hasn’t even glanced at the bruises fading on his neck. So Adam offers a small smile.

“Hip deep in grease,” Ronan says eyeing the dismantled brakes.

Adam wipes his hands. “Yeah. It’s not too bad. Ready for a new pair of shoes.”

“Congratulations on not being a pain in my ass,” Ronan says, upgrading the smirk to a smile. “Carry on, Parrish.”

Adam gives Ronan a lazy salute as he leaves before sitting back down to install brake shoes.

He still can’t believe Ronan’s reaction to the mess with Jared, especially after Adam had been so furious about being overheard.

His mind had whirred all day, evaluating the run-in and the outcome. He considered how it had happened; what, if anything, he could have done to avoid being physically trapped; the likelihood of it happening again. He regretted directing his anger at Ronan, particularly after the generosity Ronan had shown him.

After lunch, bent over the engine compartment of an old Ford truck, it occurred to Adam just how un-prick-like Ronan had been over the weekend. He continued to think about it as he worked on the golf cart brakes.

If someone had asked him how Ronan might respond to a scenario like that, Adam would have said: “like an indifferent asshole.”

But Ronan made sure Adam had privacy. He’d given up his room for as long as Adam needed it. And he’d made sure Adam had something to eat when he wandered downstairs in the middle of the night.

That part still felt like a dream - Ronan sharing the dark kitchen with him, the companionable silence. He hadn’t forced a conversation or pestered him with questions, hadn’t lectured or pried or wrung his hands. He’d just helped him find stuff for a sandwich and told Adam to sleep well.

 Adam didn’t understand it, but Ronan’s support warmed him.

Ronan finds him again as he’s putting his tools away.

“Parrish, Dick just called. Parts were delivered to the loft earlier. You can ride over with me to get them and I’ll drive you home after. How long until you’re ready to leave?”

Adam blinks. “I’m done for tonight, just packing up. But I can’t leave Blue to walk home alone.” For a long moment Ronan doesn’t move, his face doesn’t change. “She can come with us,” he finally says. “How long is she staying?”

Adam packs faster. “I’m not sure. Let me talk to her and I’ll find you.”

“Check. I’ll be in the auditorium.”

Adam finds Blue in the costume room, chatting with Gavin and another girl Adam assumes is also on the costume team.

When she sees him in the doorway, her face shifts to a concerned expression and she excuses herself from the conversation.

“Adam?”

“Hey. Do you still have things left to do?”

“We’re done. Are you ready to go home?”

Adam sighs. “Parts arrived at the loft today that I’ll need for tomorrow. Gansey and Ronan are out of town picking up the soundboard tomorrow, so Ronan wants to drive me to the loft for the parts now then drive me home. I told him I wouldn’t leave you to walk home alone. Would you mind tagging along?”

She rolls her eyes and her face immediately relaxes. “What a hardship, hanging out in Ronan’s fancy car. Let me get my stuff.”

Adam and Blue find Ronan on the stage in the auditorium twenty minutes later. He’s fiddling with the fly system, pulling ropes and cursing.

“Oh.  Already?” he says with a frown when he sees them. He checks his watch, then says, “Okay, then, fuck it.” When he lets go of the rope he’s holding weights descend too quickly, crashing with a clanging sound. Ronan blinks, then uselessly sets the brake. “I need to grab my shit, but I’ll meet you at the back entrance in two minutes.”

He jogs off stage left, down the stairs toward the side door.

“Wow,” Blue says, eyes trained on Ronan’s back. She’s trying not to laugh, shifting the strap of her backpack higher onto her shoulder.

“Hmm,” Adam says. There’s a quiet moment as they both stare after Ronan, thinking different thoughts.

“Come on. Wouldn’t want to miss the rendezvous,” he says to Blue.

~~~

 Ronan unlocks the loft door, then kicks it open for Adam and Blue.

Gansey, seated on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table, stands to receive them.

“There you are, Ronan. I didn’t realize you were bringing Blue.” He smiles brightly at her.

“Hello, again. Nice to have you back.”

“Hello, again,” Blue says, smiling back. Gansey’s gaze lingers on Blue a bit before he turns his best smile on Adam. “Hello, Adam.”

“Gansey,” Adam says with a nod and a half smile.

Gansey says “I hope you’ve - “

“So where are the parts?” Ronan interrupts, frowning.

A beleaguered sigh escapes Gansey before he says “I put them in your studio as requested.”

When Ronan heads for the stairs, Gansey says “There are also two heavy boxes along with the golf cart parts. I had to make two trips.” His tone of voice indicates his arthritis might be acting up and his pants may or may not be belted at his pecs.

“You’re up, Parrish. Since Gansey’s already had to lift with his legs twice.” Ronan shoots Gansey a smug look before turning toward the stairs again, expecting Adam to follow. Adam shrugs at Blue before he heads for the stairs.

Ronan’s waiting for him at the top of the stairs. When Adam catches up,  Ronan hurries ahead to a door beyond his bedroom.

Ronan’s studio is organized chaos. Canvases stacked along the wall by the door. A drafting table with sketches spilling over the edges. An easel bearing a large canvas near a battered table bearing paints and brushes and chemicals. Adam can’t see what’s on the canvas, but it must be the current work in progress. The large window at the back of the room offers a slice of what the city looks like at night.

Ronan sorts through the three boxes stacked near his drafting table. “All this needs to go to the shop. Can you grab that one and I’ll get these two?” Ronan asks.

As Adam moves over to pick up one of the two larger boxes, he notices equipment taking up the corner near the drafting table. Two punching bags - one a body-sized cylinder, the other teardrop-shaped -  a mat, a roll of tape on a low stool, boxing gloves propped against the legs of the stool.

As he follows Ronan into the hall, he says “You box?”

“Yeah,” Ronan says. “My dad taught all of us when we were kids. He learned in Ireland when he was a kid. I worked with a trainer last year, too. Don’t want to get rusty. And sometimes you just need to punch something.”

He follows Ronan down the stairs and over to the front door where they deposit all three boxes.

When Ronan darts into the kitchen, Adam drifts back into the living room where Blue is seated on the couch talking to Gansey.

“That’s a lot of stuff,” Blue says. “You couldn’t have those shipped to the theatre?”

“I could, yes,” Gansey said. “And I will now that I’m at the theatre most days. I’ve been working from home so there’s been no one to receive deliveries until this week.”

When Ronan emerges from the kitchen, Gansey says “It was great to see you both again. I’m sorry Ronan made you do the literal heavy lifting, Adam.”

Adam huffs a little laugh at Gansey’s attempt at humor. “It’s no bother. Happy to help.”

“Blue,” Gansey says,”I’ll talk to Gavin about rearranging the costume room tomorrow. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“See you later,” Blue tells Gansey; she stands and swings her backpack onto her shoulder.

Ronan has the door open. Adam hefts a box and follows Ronan out the door, Blue following behind Adam.


	9. Ready for the Moment of Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam is inspired to ask Ronan for assistance.

Adam tells Blue goodnight then shuts his bedroom door. He turns on his desk lamp then gets out of his coveralls and his tee shirt. The shirt, especially, is smeared with automotive fluids and both of them smell distinctively of garage. He hangs his coveralls on his closet door, tosses his tee shirt in the hamper, drags on some athletic shorts, then sits down on his bed.

The package with the steering gearbox sits on his desk next to his laptop. He stares at it and thinks back to Ronan’s studio, to the offhand information Ronan provided him about his boxing experience. He thinks about Jared attacking him out of the blue.

He’s been putting some pieces together since Ronan dropped them off earlier.

Grabbing his phone, he taps out a brief email.

 

  _Would you be willing to teach me some basic boxing?_

 

He puts the phone on his bedside table and crawls into bed.

His phone pings with a notification just as he gets settled. He sits up to check his phone, 95% sure it’s not a reply to his email.

He’s wrong.

_Hell yes. Tomorrow after the shop?_

He replies.

_Ok. Thanks._

Settled in bed for the second time, he lets out a breath he just realizes he was holding.

 Being at Jared’s mercy had terrified him when he was actively participating in that relationship. Jared attacking him out of thin air had been so much worse.

He wasn’t a weakling or immobilized by fear; he just had no idea what to do in the moment, what he could do that would change his situation and ensure his escape.

Before he ended the relationship with Jared, and for a time after, he’d tried to research self-defense online. He was never able to sort out all the competing opinions to find a method that would work. And in any case, most of the videos and articles maintained the best way to learn self-defense was in a class or one-on-one. There never seemed to be enough time or money for learning this skill.

Noticing Ronan’s equipment after the attack had inspired him to ask. Ronan’s generosity made him willing to take a chance, to trust Ronan in this way. Ronan had inadvertently become part of something that mortified Adam; he hoped Ronan could also help him learn to defend himself.

Something inside Adam settles as he drifts off to sleep.

~~~

  
“Fist like this,” Ronan says demonstrating. “Tilt your wrist like this.” He demonstrates again. “Feet shoulder width apart.  Elbow at ninety degrees.”

Adam re-arranges his fist and his wrist and his elbow and his feet.

Ronan, in a grey tank and sweatpants, reaches out to adjust his wrist, then his elbow. Adam tries to note the corrections, but he’s not sure he’ll remember the next time.

“Swing with your whole body, not just your fist,” Ronan says. “Hit the bag a few times.”

When Ronan demonstrated punches earlier, he made this look effortless, flawless. His body looked graceful and beautiful and powerful.

Punching correctly is much harder than he made it look.

Ronan’s boxing skills are impressive.

He’d sat Adam on the low stool then knelt and said, “Hand.” Ronan’s palm supported Adam’s while Ronan placed the end loop of the wrap material over Adam’s thumb. He trailed it across the back of Adam’s hand, then the material circled Adam’s wrist three times. Ronan passed three times around the back of his hand, and once between each his fingers. One pass across Adam’s knuckles, then Ronan applied the velcro to secure it.

“A proper hand wrap protects your bones and joints and tightens your fist. You should wrap your hands anytime you practice,” Ronan had instructed. “I’ll teach you how to wrap your hands if you want,” he’d said, his voice like a caress.

Adam watched him repeat the process on his other hand, mesmerized by Ronan’s control of the orbit and placement of the wrap around his hand. His touch was sure and gentle, exactly opposite what they were about to do.

Adam hits the bag; one-two, one-two, one-two.

“Not terrible,” Ronan says when Adam looks to him. “Again.”

Adam punches again, his mind trying to track and remember what his body is learning.

Ronan takes in everything Adam does while he’s punching. When he’s done, Ronan steps close to adjust his stance and form. A hand at his elbow moves it higher, fingers on his wrapped hand tilt it slightly, an encouraging clasp of his shoulder. Ronan directs Adam to punch again.

Adam’s muscles start to burn and he’s sweating through his tee shirt. This lesson is more difficult that he’d anticipated. But he keeps going, responding to Ronan’s directions, focusing on the proper forms. Punching like it’s his job.

Ronan coaches him for two hours; they both get lost in the exertion, the precision, the working of muscles and sinew. Adam is drenched, Ronan is flushed.

“I can see you’re a quick study,” Ronan tells him as they take the stairs to the first floor.

“Well, thanks, but I feel like I just flailed around aimlessly for two hours,” Adam says.

When they get to the kitchen, he takes the water bottle Ronan offers him from the fridge. He has half an impulse to dump it over his head but drinks it down.

After gulping from his own water bottle, Ronan tells him “You’ve got the correct forms now, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

“It doesn’t. Yet.”

Ronan grunts. “You need to keep practicing,”

Adam nods before finishing off the water in his bottle.

“If you want we can try again Thursday,” Ronan says.

“Not tomorrow?”

Ronan smiles his razor smile “You’re going to be sore enough on Thursday. Give yourself a break.”

After Ronan drives him home, Adam showers and tumbles into bed. He’s exhausted. His limbs feel heavy and his mind is ready to rest until morning. He feels triumphant, even though he’s only started to learn. He’s taken the first step down a path that will make him stronger and better. The work he did today will help him build his own future.

He smiles in the dark just before he falls deeply asleep.


	10. The Story of Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally see Hamilton; there is no shortage of data for Adam to process.

Adam’s still not sure how Blue talked him into this. He’s uncomfortable with Gansey buying these tickets. At least Blue insisted that they stay in a hotel she and Adam could afford. He couldn’t even be bothered by Gansey bringing Ronan along. What had gotten into him? 

Maybe he’d rather not be alone in the city for two days while Blue and the others go to New York. The idea leaves him unsettled. He hasn’t encountered Jared again. Adam’s not sure if Jared actually knows where he lives or if Jared just happened to be in town the weekend of their run-in, or what the situation is. Blue has been walking with him to and from the theatre at night and making a point of going with him anywhere else. Ronan’s been training him to defend himself, but he’s not sure if he’s trained enough yet to be effective during another attack. It’s easier to be indignant about the trials of this trip than to contemplate whether or not he’s still at risk. The trip is thankfully brief, only one night in a hotel and back to Boston on Sunday.

The drive south felt awkward at first, for him if not for the others. He’s spent some time with Ronan and Gansey but doesn’t know either of them well enough for a road trip to be comfortable yet. 

Ronan’s black BMW had picked them up at their apartment, but Gansey was at the wheel. Adam and Blue sat together in the back and Ronan rode shotgun, bent on playing awful electronica over Gansey’s attempts to talk with Blue via the rear view. It was like watching a less violent episode of the Three Stooges: Gansey batting Ronan’s hand away from the volume knob, Ronan swearing at Gansey, the speakers either at zero or near full volume, Gansey admonishing Ronan like a dad, Ronan shooting death glares across the center console.

He’d caught Ronan’s eye once or twice when the flirting from the driver’s seat became visible from space. Ronan’s razor smirk told him their opinions about this development matched.

Adam remained quiet during the drive, speaking when spoken to but otherwise observing. He noticed the ease between Gansey and Ronan, even as they sniped back and forth about music and the speed limit and any other topic that arose. He could tell their bond was deep, probably as deep as his with Blue. Since her mother had taken him in when his father kicked him out, Adam had grown up alongside his best friend and considered her to be the sister he’d never had. It was easy to recognize that found-sibling dynamic when he saw it.

He saw the look in Blue’s eyes when Gansey wanted to know what it was like to be raised in a house full of psychic women. Adam noted the flush in her cheeks when she answered, telling Gansey about the psychic hotline and the tarot readings and her outrageous cousin Orla. He was grateful that she didn’t mention he had lived there as well; she always left it to him to tell his own story.

He watched Ronan from his seat behind Gansey. Still dark and sharp-edged, Ronan seemed relaxed and comfortable while tormenting his friend. Even the rare barbs he tossed into the backseat were softer, almost good-natured. The asshole factor had come down considerably. Adam even laughed when Ronan made Blue and Gansey stop talking about  _ Hamilton _ and called Gansey a blazing history nerd. When he heard Adam laugh, Ronan had met Adam’s eyes appraisingly. Ronan’s look lingered, then his mouth had quirked up in response. Adam felt that smile like glowing embers in his chest.

The memory of that smile comes back to him as he takes his seat in the front mezzanine of the Richard Rodgers Theatre. Gansey now sits next to Blue in the row directly in front of him, and Ronan is seated to Adam’s right. He braces himself for the next three hours, anxious to have the show behind him.

Blue had filled Adam in on the cultural phenomenon of Hamilton since musicals weren’t on his radar. He’d read some articles and developed an academic interest in experiencing the show for himself, to see what a professional production looks like and what all the hype might be about, but that doesn’t match the intensity of Blue’s interest. Gansey seems fairly invested, but Adam thinks this is a combination of growing up with a lifestyle that featured Broadway musicals as regular events and being a history nerd. Ronan doesn’t seem to care at all. Adam wonders how Gansey works such influential magic on Ronan Lynch.

He tries not to think about how expensive and elusive these tickets are. That Gansey had no trouble getting four. He’s diligently turned a blind eye to anything about this trip that might affront him. For Blue’s sake. She’s the reason he’s here. 

He glances at Ronan. He’s still a study in black and blue, as always, but he’s changed into a tailored, undoubtedly expensive black v-neck t-shirt with his expensive black jeans and black boots, the spines of his tattoo clinging to his neck. It’s a more striking version of his usual thug attire. He’s artfully slouched in the theatre seat, long lashes lowered over ice blue eyes watching Gansey and Blue scan a single playbill. Adam swallows with a suddenly dry mouth. There’s no denying that, when he isn’t being an asshole, Ronan Lynch is a dangerously handsome creature. 

Ronan tilts his head a fraction and his eyes lock with Adam’s. Adam’s pulse lurches so wildly it steals a breath, but he doesn’t look away. Ronan’s gaze is sure and intense, yet something unsatisfied lodges in the blue depths. They’ve been looking at each other for what seems an eternity, which makes Adam feel like he’s suspended in mid-air over a perilous chasm when the house lights dim.

“Here we go, cowboy,” Ronan says, flashing his sharp grin in the darkness. Adam laughs once, low in his throat, then turns to view the stage.

And it’s more interesting than he could have imagined. The songs draw him in, and Adam can’t help but identify with Alexander Hamilton’s deprived and unfortunate past, his relentless drive to succeed. Adam knows too well the sting of being a scholarship student, knows the dogged commitment it takes to rise up, what it’s like to shoulder those burdens without the foundational support of parents or relatives. Watching Alexander on stage settles something into place that Adam hadn’t known was loose. This musical about an archaic politician is not what he’d expected.

Blue and Gansey applaud avidly for everything, of course, but Adam watches Ronan’s reactions. He stops slouching when Hercules Mulligan introduces himself, which makes Adam smirk. Ronan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands when Hamilton meets his friends and they all drink shots. He even smiles and huffs a quiet laugh at King George.

When the house lights come up for intermission, Adam finds Ronan already looking at him. He raises one eloquent brow when Ronan simply says “Shit.” 

“You liked it?” Adam asks as he stands up, unable to tell how Ronan has employed the word.

“I thought this would be like watching beige paint dry,” Ronan says. “It’s so fucking not.”

“I tried to tell you,” Gansey says over his shoulder from the row in front of them.

“You think boat shoes are the shit,” Ronan tells him, which makes both Adam and Blue erupt into laughter.

Blue nudges Gansey. “Let’s go check out the merch,” she says.  She glances at Adam as they both scoot down the row toward the aisle; he winks in response. “What’s wrong with boat shoes?” Gansey asks as they go, and Adam is glad he won’t be able to hear Blue’s response.

Ronan surveys the audience on the lower level after he stands up. 

“How about that Hercules Mulligan?” Adam says, a sly note in his voice. Ronan’s ears turn pink.

“What can I say, Parrish? There’s something about an undercover revolutionary...whatever the hell.” The wicked half smile Ronan adds causes Adam to stop breathing for a moment. 

“So what’s your verdict?” Ronan asks.

A small crease forms between Adam’s brows. “I don’t have much to compare it to, really, but it’s more interesting than I thought it would be. I just have to listen hard.”

“Lyrics going by too fast?” There’s amusement in Ronan’s voice.

“Some,” Adam says, “but since I’m at half capacity I need to focus a bit more.”

Ronan frowns. “Half of what capacity?”

_ Dammit _ .

“I thought you knew,” Adam says, blinking. “I’m deaf in one ear.”

“Fucking news to me.” Ronan’s surprised expression shifts. “Something you were born with?” 

Regret shoots through Adam’s gut.  _ Shit _ , he could have sworn they had talked about this. And now he’s dragged this out into the open himself. 

Adam’s eyes flick to the empty stage then back to Ronan. “No.”

Ronan’s head tilts and his eyes narrow a fraction. Adam can tell he wants to know, maybe even suspects, but he doesn’t ask. After a tense moment, Ronan asks, instead, “Is this your first Broadway show?”

Adam shrugs one shoulder, then nods relieved that the change in subject comes from Ronan. “Blue’s high school did  _ Sweeney Todd _ and she took me. But I’ve never seen anything professional.” 

“No trust fund, no culture.” That slash of a smile returns. “You need to step it up, Parrish.” The words are barbed, but there’s no heat in Ronan’s voice.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Adam huffs, wondering how he’s earned such benediction from Ronan.

“Your Broadway debut,” Ronan affirms.

“So you’re a Broadway veteran, then?”

Ronan squints a bit and shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulders draw upward for a moment then relax. 

“My mom took me and my two brothers to a few shows when we were little,” he admits.

Ronan’s expression is strange and Adam’s stomach knots with the realization that he has dragged Ronan’s memories of his mother to the surface with his question.

“Anything good?” Adam asks, hoping to focus Ronan on the shows.

“There was one I liked.” 

Ronan’s voice is also strange, a wistful growl. But the way Ronan looks at him makes Adam want to reach out and touch his arm, or take his hand. He does neither.

Ronan’s gaze flicks past his shoulder just before he hears Blue say, “I just meant I’m glad they didn’t gloss over Hamilton’s gold-digging and left it in the show.” Adam watches Blue and Gansey return to their seats; there’s a tee shirt tucked under Blue’s arm.

“That was fast,” Adam says.

“I'm sure the sea of people parted before Gansey’s considerable charm - and money,” Ronan deadpans, his usual smirk is in place, the strangeness evaporated from his eyes.

Blue tugs Adam’s pant leg from the row in front of him. “What do you think? Did you like the first act?”

Her eyes are bright and her smile is infectious.

“It was a lot better than I expected,” he admits. 

She beams. “You should probably defer to my judgment more often.”

“Probably,” Adam says with a grin.

Then the house lights dim for the second act.

Ronan takes his seat just before Adam does. Adam’s arm goes to their shared armrest - as he realizes Ronan’s arm is already there and his hand is now resting directly on top of Ronan’s.

Adam freezes, and he feels Ronan freeze beside him. Ronan’s hand is so warm beneath his; his heart lurches into his throat with the desire to slide his fingers between Ronan’s, to feel Ronan’s palm against his own. He wants to, but he’s afraid. He’s afraid his heartbeat is so erratic that Ronan can feel it, hear it. He’s afraid Ronan wouldn’t welcome the gesture. He’s afraid Ronan  _ would _ welcome the gesture. 

Adam shifts his hand into his lap, not daring to glance at Ronan. 

It was a sliver of a moment, but it felt just the same as the look they shared as the show started, like being suspended over an endless chasm. The thought that any second he could plunge downward and never stop makes Adam lightheaded.

The opening number of the second act is cheerful enough to dispel the heat in Adam’s cheeks and the tightness in his chest, but this act finds Alexander in conflict personally and professionally. Instead of uniting with the revolutionaries against a common enemy, Alexander goes head to head with his peers as he tries to build the framework for a new nation while his affections are drawn in more than one direction.

Adam wonders how Ronan reacts to the second act, but he’s not brave enough to look until several songs in when Ronan laughs quietly during the second cabinet battle. In the moment that Adam inclines his head enough to see Ronan’s face, Ronan’s eyes flick over to meet his. The smirk left on Ronan’s face by the song widens slightly into a small smile before he turns his attention back to the show. Warmth streaks down Adam’s spine and his gaze lingers a bit before his eyes return to the stage.

_ What. The. Hell _ . 

There will be time later to process these enigmatic reactions to Ronan Lynch, Adam tells himself as he shifts his attention back to the show.

Hamilton’s life starts to fall apart in earnest in the middle of the act, which is compelling enough to hold most of Adam’s attention. When Hamilton’s son is shot and lays dying, Adam is riveted. 

He’s struck particularly by the father-son dynamic, tries to imagine his own father’s reaction to the mortal wounding of his son. He knows how unlikely his father’s presence would be at his bedside. He knows not every family works the way his does, knows this especially because of Blue and her family, but it’s surreal any time he tries to imagine this sort of love and devotion from his own family.

Hamilton suffers the loss of his son in the ruins of his marriage. Adam is oddly gripped by this as well. The lyrics are profound, the situation so sorrowful that even rational, logical Adam can feel it. Adam marvels for a moment at this emotional connection. The state of his heart is something else he’ll need to process later.

He notices Gansey and Blue clasp hands along their shared armrest. Well, then. 

When the audience applauds he finally lets his eye slide back over to Ronan. Ronan’s face is sharp and angular in the soft light. His brows are drawn together. A single tear tracks down his cheek. 

Adam turns his attention back to the show, but not before noticing Gansey offer Blue a tissue. 

While the show gets back to politics, Adam’s stunned to realize that the same Ronan Lynch from that first production meeting is sitting next to him in the dark at a Broadway show exhibiting emotion in a way that’s not sharp and irascible. It’s almost as moving as the dramatic scene he just witnessed on the stage. Adam tries to breathe through the tangle of his own emotions that crowd his chest. God, he needs time to consider and sort all this out.

The show provides one intense moment after another as Hamilton and Burr unravel toward their infamous duel. Adam glances at Ronan only once before the finale - when Hamilton sees his loved ones waiting on the other side, when he’s trying to say goodbye to his wife. Ronan’s mouth is pressed thin, his eyes are closed.

Adam aches for him, kicks himself again for dredging up memories of his mother.

Every seat in the theatre empties for a standing ovation after the finale. Blue and Gansey almost jump out of their seats, but Adam takes his time. Ronan takes even longer to get to his feet. In an effort to give Ronan a moment to compose himself, Adam concentrates on the stage until the cast retreats and the tidal wave of applause crests. Only then does he turn to Ronan.

“Well, Parrish,” Ronan says, “You made it. Still intact after your Broadway debut.” His voice is rough and splintered with disuse and, Adam suspects, emotion. One corner of his mouth quirks up. His eyes are clear and fierce, but Adam has no idea what that means.

“It was close,” Adam replies with his own smirk. “I think that second act had it in for me.”

Ronan huffs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “No fucking shit,” he growls, his attention shifting to Gansey and Blue. 

Adam follows his gaze. Their heads are bent toward one another as they talk quietly, Gansey’s hand on Blue’s elbow.

Adam catches Ronan’s eye again and simply raises one eyebrow.

“It’s fucking come to this,” Ronan rumbles under his breath.     

 


	11. The World Seemed to Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam can’t sleep after the show; he decides to get some air on the rooftop deck.

Adam went to bed but spent two hours examining the ceiling of his hotel room. 

He’d tried to tell himself it’s the pizza he ate just before turning in that keeps him up, but each passing wakeful minute made that more difficult to believe.

After the show, Gansey had steered them to a favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza joint. Gansey and Blue sat across from him and Ronan, their shoulders touching, still talking about  _ Hamilton _ . Ronan sniped at them, but it seemed half-hearted.

Adam had managed to eat and drink and talk, but exhaustion was eroding his ability to interact. And he needed time alone to process the heaping pile of data from today.

He’d had to knock on the table right in front of Blue to wrench her attention from Gansey.

“Hey, I’m really tired. I’m going to go back to the hotel now,” he’d told her.

And she had protested, of course.

“Oh, you can’t go now. Stay! We’ll do something awful and touristy and make memories.”

She’d meant it, but Adam could tell just by looking at her face, not to mention what had happened in the last three hours, that she was focused on Gansey in that moment.

He’d given her a weary smile, and gently insisted he wanted to go back to the hotel.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he’d said to her, and taken the hand she’d offered to squeeze it. 

“Good night,” he’d told Gansey, “Thank you for the show. It was something I didn’t even I know I needed.” He’d been surprised how thick his voice had sounded.

Gansey’s eyes had softened. “It was my pleasure, Adam. Thank you for coming along.”  

He’d turned to Ronan then. “Don’t give them too much shit.”

Ronan’s eyes had still been fierce, and Adam hadn’t wanted to stop looking into them.

“You never let me have any fun, Parrish.” He’d been scowling, but somehow it seemed good-natured.

Adam had put on his best poker face. “If you behave tonight, maybe you can have fun tomorrow.”

“Heard that before,” Ronan grumbled. “Fuck off, Parrish.”

“Good night,” he’d said to all of them before leaving.

~~~

The hotel room had been blessedly cool when he returned. He’d hit the shower, put on shorts and a t-shirt and gone directly to bed.

Two hours ago.

He should be tired enough to sleep. The tension of the drive down, the three hours spent inside a theatre watching an emotional production, and the socializing afterward had conspired against him and drained him. Even so, it seemed his mind was intent on the enigma that is Ronan Lynch.

Arresting, confusing, wry, impossible Ronan Lynch.

He’d spent the first thirty minutes after crawling under the covers trying to deny the attraction he felt. Empirically, though, it couldn’t be denied. His lungs had ceased to work several times in the theatre. There had been blushing and staring and touching and wanting to touch more. He’s surprised he sustained his denial thirty whole minutes.

He feels giddy with the realization that he’s attracted to Ronan, and takes a moment to revel in it. He hadn’t known if he’d ever be giddy and attracted again; if nothing else he knows it’s still possible.

But just because he’s attracted doesn’t mean he ought to act on it. 

He’d allowed himself to be giddy and attracted to Jared, and that had been nothing but trouble and heartache.

And the similarities hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

Both Ronan and Jared were tall and muscular. They were both handsome in a sharp way. They were both intense. Both of them drank.

Adam skitters away from thoughts of Jared, red-faced, interrogating him about where he’d been and who he’d been with.

He absolutely wants to continue to be attracted to Ronan and find out if that attraction might be mutual. The thought of Ronan being mutually attracted to him, though, is terrifying.

Adam can’t be sure the similarities between Ronan and Jared stop on the surface. He’s witnessed Ronan’s physical power for himself, knows that power is capable of tremendous damage. There’s been no indication that Ronan is physically violent, yet he grew up learning to box. Adam doesn’t know him well enough to know if Ronan has ever used his skills for anything other than a workout.

What if Ronan has a history of violence? What if Adam’s attracted to violent men on some level? 

His relationship history is scant: the short-lived romance with Blue, the fleeting makeout with a boy from high school that got him kicked out of the house, the hook up with a Henrietta girl after graduation. And Jared. There’s not enough data for anything conclusive; all the more reason for concern about his preferences.

He lays in the darkness, listening to the whir of the air conditioner, chasing the facts he knows, changing his mind every few minutes. 

Adam reminds himself that he decided to focus on getting his degree after the mess with Jared last spring, that he decided not to have another romantic relationship - at least for awhile and maybe never again. He needs to ensure his own safety; he can’t accomplish any of his goals if he doesn’t take care of himself. Friendship is all he should focus on right now.

Then he thinks of Ronan bristling when he found out about Adam’s hearing loss, the astounding offer of safety and privacy that night at the loft, his deep bond with Gansey, teaching him to box. Those fucking eyes.

Sleep isn’t within his grasp. His mind has already been circling too long and he can feel the beginning of a headache at the base of his skull. Flinging the covers back he leaves the bed, one hand running through his hair while the other snatches his key card from the nightstand. He shoves his feet into his chucks before leaving the room.

He doesn’t have to wait long for the elevator. Inside he punches the button for the roof.

When the elevator doors open to the rooftop deck, heat rushes in to meet him before he steps out into the sultry night. He can already smell the chlorine.

He starts toward the pool at the opposite end of the deck, passing the tiny, deserted bar area. Maybe staring at the water will relax his mind enough to still get a few hours of sleep.

It’s a small, elegant plunge pool, but that suits his purposes. The pool lights are still on, making that hypnotic, undulating magic with the water that he loves. He kicks off his shoes then sits on the pool’s edge, pointing his feet and sliding them into the cool, chemical water. He dips a hand in and splashes the back of his neck, already humid from his commute across the roof.

He tilts his head back to look at the night sky. Too much light noise for any good stargazing, which is a shame. Perfectly good rooftop view of the night sky obliterated.

He’d expected other guests to be up on the roof in the city that never sleeps, but he’s alone. Which also suits his purposes.

He moves his feet languorously through the cool water, listens to the muted sound of traffic below, and tries to overmaster his heart. Or his lust. Whatever part of him wants to dive into the mystery of Ronan Lynch. 

“Parrish?”

The familiar sandpaper of Ronan’s voice shocks him. Adrenaline bursts through Adam’s system and his pulse is so loud he can’t hear much from his one good ear.

“Shit, Ronan,” he hisses. His hand covers his heart, which feels like a rabid thing trying to chew through his chest. “Scare me to death.”

 


	12. Summon all the Courage You Require

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone else has also decided to spend time on the rooftop deck.

From the look on Ronan’s face, Adam is not the only one who’s stunned. Ronan’s brows are furrowed, his mouth is still open. He hasn’t yet pulled on one of his trademark smirks. And those damned eyes of his are lit up and alive.

“Same, shithead,” Ronan growls. “I thought I was alone up here.”

As Adam’s heart rate starts to calm, he sees that Ronan has changed his expensive tee shirt for a barely-there tank top, but is otherwise wearing his jeans and boots from earlier. He’s also carrying a beer bottle which is half full. The set of his shoulders is tense.

“I didn’t see you when I sat down,” Adam says.

“I’ve been up here an hour,” Ronan says. When Adam frowns and tilts his head, Ronan tells him, “I didn’t want to third-wheel Gansey and Sargent so I left after you did.”

“Hmm. Can’t say that I blame you.” 

Adam and Ronan regard one another without speaking. 

Adam wants to convince himself to drop this, to leave it be, to not care. And now Ronan’s standing here looking sharp and fierce and fervent as a flame and he realizes why resistance has eluded him.

“Shit damn, it’s hot,” Ronan says. “I think you’ve got the right idea, Parrish.” He drops onto a pool chair and begins unlacing his boots. 

Adam stares into the blue depths of the pool again, hears first one boot then the other drop onto the deck. The next thing Adam knows, Ronan’s bare legs are beside him, and he’s folding himself down to sit on the pool’s edge. Water splashes up as he sticks his feet into the pool. Along with the boots, Ronan has shed his jeans and his tank and is now wearing only his boxers. 

Adam’s mind goes fuzzy as he comprehends the acres of bare Ronan skin next to him. He forces himself not to look at the vast expanse of tattoo.

“This is exactly the right idea,” Ronan says with a contented sigh. He takes a long drink from the bottle he’s brought with him. “I thought you were tired.” He sets the bottle down, staring into the pool himself.

Adam sighs. “I was. I am. My brain won’t let me be, though.”

Ronan grunts. “Sounds familiar.” Adam thinks he might hear some sincerity in Ronan’s tone.

“You...okay?” Ronan asks.

Adam feels wary, or exposed, or cagey.

“Yeah,” Adam drawls. “It’s been a long day, though.” It’s not a lie. He hopes Ronan can’t see right through him to the emotional tornado inside. Or the reason for the tornado.

“Is it the show?” Ronan asks.

“The show?” Adam repeats.

“Yeah,” Ronan says. “You seemed into...some of it,” he qualifies.

“I did?” Adam turns to look at Ronan, who continues to stare at the water. 

Ronan shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking about it tonight,” Adam admits.

“Me too,” Ronan says, low and husky.

“Really?” Adam is genuinely surprised. 

Ronan nods. 

Adam moves his feet up and down under the water. He’s almost lost in his own thoughts when Ronan speaks again.

“It reminded me of mom taking us to see Les Miz in London one Christmas.”

“Les Miz. That’s the show you liked. Right?” Adam remembers intermission.

“Yeah,” Ronan repeats.

“What was it about Les Miz that you liked?” Adam’s imagining Ronan’s mother, who was surely regal and beautiful, with three young boys in tow, experiencing the musical through the eyes of her sons.

Now Ronan smirks. “Mostly the battle. But Javert was pretty interesting. For reasons I didn’t fully understand at the time.” 

Adam laughs knowingly, and Ronan joins him. 

A familiar, embarrassed flush creeps up Adam’s neck. He’s suddenly grateful for Ronan’s focus on the water. “I have no idea what you mean,” Adam says dryly.

“Sure,” Ronan’s voice is acidic, but he looks at Adam and rolls his eyes eloquently.

“Was it the uniform?” Adam asks in a sly tone.

Ronan nods. “Partly. The actor was pretty built. That didn’t hurt.”

Adam’s stomach feels shredded. 

“So what’s your excuse for not being sound asleep in your room?” Adam asks.

“Same as yours,” Ronan says.

Somehow Adam doubts that Ronan is awake because of the show. He doesn’t dare think Ronan is still awake for the same reason Adam is still awake. He makes himself think again of his goals and his purpose and friendship.  _ Friendship _ .

“I did some drawing back in my room, but I needed more space,” Ronan tells him, then takes another drink.

“You’re drawing the show?”

Ronan scoffs. “Fuck, no,” he says. “Just some stuff the show inspired.”

Adam nods as if he understands what that means.

“So the creative urge is keeping you awake.” It’s not a question.

“It happens,” Ronan confirms. “I’m a slave to the goddamned muse.”

“What inspiration has the muse brought you tonight?”

Ronan brings one foot out of the water and slams his heel back into the pool. “That fucking show made me think about my dad.”

“I’m sorry, Ronan,” he says, his voice quiet Southern honey. He wishes again that he’d never gotten close to the topic of Ronan’s parents at intermission.

Ronan doesn’t respond, and Adam doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“What...how did you lose him?” He probably shouldn’t ask, but he’s been curious about it since Ronan brought it up in the shop. Maybe asking in the middle of the night on a rooftop in New York City makes it less intrusive.

Ronan’s shoulders seem to knot in front of Adam’s eyes, the black ink of his tattoo rippling. “Mom and dad took the motorcycle on a cross-country ride. They were hit by a fucking drunk driver in Tennessee. Dad was killed on impact. Mom was in a coma for two days before she died.” He’s scowling and stops fiddling with the leather bands at his wrist before taking a mouthful of beer.

“Shit,” Adam breathes. “That’s terrible.”

Ronan grunts. “I wasn’t an incredible asshole for a year over nothing.”

“I can’t even imagine.” Adam’s trying to understand what it might be like to lose parents who actually loved him. He can only imagine what it might be like to lose Maura, which is painful enough, but not in any way the sort of grief Ronan must have experienced.

Ronan elaborates: “It was your standard-issue angry, grieving teenager shit, featuring substance abuse, violence, and an incredibly fucking toxic romantic relationship. Way too much street racing. I was constantly starting fistfights. Even with my older brother. I think we brawled more than we talked” 

Fear sizzles down Adam’s spine. “Brawled?” It’s barely above a whisper. Every cell is alert to what Ronan will say.

“Some,” Ronan says, shrugging.

He must realize why Adam asked because when he makes eye contact his expression is alarmed. Ronan puts a warm hand on Adam’s shoulder for a moment. The heat of his palm reminds Adam of their hands overlapping on their shared armrest, of Ronan wrapping his hands before his boxing lesson. Adam feels a little dizzy.

“It happened, Adam. I was a fucking mess. But it’s in the past, and has been for the last two years.”

Ronan’s eyes are wide and bottomless.  Adam swallows and nods.  _ Friendship. Decidedly. _ Adam can’t afford another unhealthy relationship. Ronan seems sincere, but this is too close for comfort.

“It was just…” Ronan starts, clearly struggling to find words. “I was fucking destroyed over mom and dad. I stopped sleeping, started drinking too much and street racing. That’s how I got involved with Kavinsky. With Kavinsky, everything was like a fight.” His fingers are twisting and untwisting the leather bands.

“He was toxic?” Adam asks, curious in spite of himself.

Ronan eyes Adam critically. “You have no fucking idea,” he says, bitterness in his voice.

Adam huffs. “I think maybe I do.”

“Have anything to do with that shitstain who assaulted you the night of the party?” Ronan asks. The contempt in his tone is crystal clear.

“Yeah,” Adam says, his voice flat,“It does.” He shivers in spite of the heat, in spite of himself.

“So what happened with Kavinsky?” Adam asks, mostly so he doesn’t have to tell Ronan anything about Jared.

Ronan scrubs one hand over his shaved head.

“We went to the same prep school, but I didn’t pay any attention to him until we started racing. That turned into...other things, and we were together or whatever the hell.” Ronan swears under his breath. “Gansey was fucking insufferable about it.” 

Adam laughs quietly. “I don’t even want to imagine that.”

“You don’t,” Ronan says with conviction. “He wouldn’t quit, though. Pushed me until I went to fucking therapy. Kavinsky didn’t take it well when I finally called it off. Had his own demons, which had played pretty damn well with mine, and he wasn’t interested in sorting out any of his own shit.” Ronan pauses, then says, almost to himself, “Everything with Kavinsky was a fight.”

Ronan seems lost in thought for a while before he continues, his eyes focused on nothing.

“When K figured out I was serious, that there’d be no more ‘us’, he...he, um...tried to kill himself.” Ronan’s voice is toneless, detached. 

“Holy shit.” Adam feels like he’s been punched.

“A metric shit ton of holy shit,” Ronan says. “If I hadn’t already been in therapy…” Ronan doesn’t finish.

“Ronan,” Adam says, in the same way he’s just said  _ holy shit _ .

Ronan seems to come back to himself. “So what about this shitstain?” Ronan asks. “What’s the deal?”

Adam doesn’t really want to say it out loud, not to Ronan. He’s still mortified that Ronan had a front row seat that night at the loft. Words stick in his throat as the silence stretches.

“C’mon, Parrish,” Ronan says, in such a gentle way that it unnerves Adam. “I just pulled my heart, beating, from my chest.” He gives Adam a tight, but genuine, smile. “Tell me.”

Adam sighs. 

  
  
  



	13. My Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions. And artwork. And confessions about artwork.

When he speaks, Adam’s voice is low and tight. “Blue didn’t mention it today in the car, but her mother took me in when I was fourteen. My dad kicked me out of the house.”

“Fuck,” Ronan says.

“Yeah.”

“That’s why you put yourself through prep school.”

“Yeah.”

Swallowing hard, Adam wills himself to say the rest.

“I was working on a car in the carport one night with this guy who I...and things got a little…we started making out. My dad broke it up.”

“Shit, he kicked you out for kissing a guy?”

Adam nods.

“Merciful fuck,” Ronan breathes.

Adam allows the quiet to expand.

Ronan laughs under his breath. “I thought you were with Blue. Especially that night during pizza.”

Shaking his head, Adam says “We get that a lot. We were sort of a couple, the summer before I got kicked out. We both decided we work best as friends.” He wets his fingers and splashes the back of his neck. “Actually, she’s more like a sister now,” he says softly.

“Okay, enough about Sargent,” Ronan commands, “you’ve strayed away from the shitstain story.”

Adam’s brows crease for a minute, then he shrugs. “I knew I had to make it on my own, that I’d have no help, so...yeah,” Adam continues. “I worked three jobs and got straight A’s and a full ride to Harvard. My first semester I spent a lot of time in the library, and Jared worked there. He was...tall, and muscular, and smart.” Adam’s laugh is bitter. “So I told myself it was okay. It was okay to be attracted and interested and now that I was on my own nothing bad would happen.”

“He’s the one who damaged your ear, isn’t he?” Darkness roils through Ronan’s question, and his eyes bore into Adam’s.

“As long as you know the ending I can stop now. Good,” Adam says without smiling.

“Shit, no,” Ronan complains, “Just tell me. I’ll shut the fuck up.”

When Adam doesn’t continue right away, Ronan raises an eyebrow.

“So I let him flirt with me and I tried to flirt back and we started dating.”

Ronan huffs.

“He was smart and hot and all, but he was also possessive and jealous and controlling. All that got compounded with his binge drinking.” Adam is focused on the water now, unable to look at Ronan.

“He was so sorry the first time he hit me,” Adam’s voice has gone flat again. “And I, like a damned fool, believed him.”

He feels Ronan simmering next to him.

“I could manage things, until he drank. He would find something to be jealous or possessive about, and he’d hit me. And then he’d be so sorry. Hell.” The self-reproach in that single word is unmistakable, even to Adam.

Adam runs his fingers through his hair.

“One night I was working with my project group over dinner. He thought I was at the library and stopped there to find me. When he didn’t, he started drinking. After working with my group I studied on my own in the library and got back to the dorm late. Jared was waiting for me in the stairwell.”

Adam takes a deep breath.

“He hit me and my head bounced off the handrail. I haven’t heard anything out of my left ear since.”

“ _Fucker_ ,” Ronan hisses.

“Yeah,” Adam agrees.

“Adam,” Ronan says, gravel and sandpaper and splinters, “You didn’t fucking deserve that.”

Adam nods. “I’m learning that.”

Adam tips his head back to look at the sky, even though he knows he won’t see many stars. He rolls his shoulders in an effort to dispel the tension there.

When he stops looking at the sky, he turns to Ronan.

“So what did _Hamilton_ inspire you to draw?” Adam asks. He’s uncomfortable talking about himself like this and he’d rather talk about Ronan.

“The music was better than I thought it would be, so I read some of the lyrics online,” Ronan told him. “They were pretty fucking inspiring. I wrote down some of the lyrics, and I’ve sketched out some images to go with them.”

“Like what?” Adam asks, “Which lyrics are inspiring?”

“Shit, I’ll just show you,” Ronan says with a flash of teeth. Ronan’s feet burst out of the pool and he stands up.

Wet feet slap on the deck as he jogs around the near side of the pool and up three steps to a deck hidden by green foliage and small trees. When he jogs back to join Adam, he’s carrying a sketchbook.

He sinks down next to Adam again, cross-legged, so close their shoulders and knees brush. The sketchbook is already open, and he holds it out for Adam to see.

“It’s just a goddamn sketch,” Ronan says, sounding cross. “It’s not final.”

The sketchbook page holds a penciled forearm and hand, the hand clutching a gun pointed at the top of the page. A tattoo on the inside of the forearm reads _Aiming for the Sky._

“This is from the dueling scenes?” Adam asks.

“Yeah,” Ronan says. “The one with Hamilton’s son. He says ‘I was aiming for the sky’.” Ronan’s voice sounds odd, heavy with regret, somehow far away even though he’s right beside Adam.

Adam realizes this is a reflection of something to do with Ronan’s father.

“It’s very - defiant,” Adam tells Ronan, although the first word that occurred to him was “aggressive,” which he can’t bring himself to say. Not now, not after learning what Ronan was like after his parents died. Might still be like?

“Can I see your tattoo?” Adam realizes he’s saying the words as they come out of his mouth.

Something flits across Ronan’s expression before he says, “Yeah, sure.” He puts the sketchbook behind him, making sure the deck is dry, and turns his back to Adam, his shoulders hunched over his drawn-up knees.

The tattoo that Adam has only glimpsed in pieces spans from Ronan’s neck, across his shoulders, and down his entire back. Thick, dark swathes of ink intertwine with delicate, thin lines to form black feathers, Celtic knots, flower petals, claws and beaks, fleur de lis, one sharp line hooking into another. It’s massive and barbed and meant to intimidate as it floats on top of firm muscle. It does.

Adam gives a low whistle. “That’s a beast,” he says. “It had to hurt.”

“Like a bitch,” Ronan agrees over his shoulder.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. Adam reaches out with both his hands, his thumbs barely touching the base of Ronan’s neck where the black wings begin their span over Ronan’s shoulders. He feels Ronan’s muscles tense, then melt into relaxation. Adam ghosts his thumbs across Ronan’s back, following the stygian feathers, until they round Ronan’s shoulders and slide off. Adam stares at Ronan’s back as if trying to absorb every detail.

“How long did it take to design?” Adam asks, pensive.

“I worked on it a month or so,” Ronan says. His voice sounds detached and dreamy.

“I know nothing about art,” Adam says, hushed, “but it seems like armor.”

Ronan swings around to drop his feet back into the pool, giving Adam a canny look.

“It was one of my last therapy projects,” Ronan huffs.

“Your therapist advised getting tattooed?”

“The artwork was the assignment,” Ronan corrects, then smiles like danger. “The tattoo idea was mine.”

“Of course it was.” Adam’s eyes bore into Ronan’s for longer than he knows they should.

Ronan reaches behind him for his sketchbook. He flips the page and holds it out again for Adam.

“These are the quotes I want to put with images.”

Adam leans forward to look at the list, his shoulder skimming Ronan’s.

He can’t be sure, but the quotes seem to either relate to his father, or perhaps Kavinsky. Adam takes a deep breath to ease the tightness in his chest.

Ronan turns the page, his eyes trained on Adam’s face. Ronan’s drawn a portrait of a shirtless man. He’s older but looks enough like Ronan even in this rough sketch that Adam can guess who this is. His hair is dark and long, and a tattoo covers his shoulder and upper arm. The portrait tattoo is just as he imagined Ronan’s mother might look: long hair, angelic face with long lashes and full lips. “Love doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints,” is written in stylized letters at the bottom of the page.

“Your beating heart is in this drawing,” Adam murmurs. “You look so much like him.”

There’s some kind of electrical hum that Adam feels rather than hears. Ronan’s sitting so close, so dangerously close, poolside on a rooftop in the middle of a sweltering New York City night. In the last several hours it’s become clear to Adam they are both damaged, they are both reeling, they are both trying to piece together a future in the face of, or maybe in spite of, loss. Adam feels like he’s watching them from above, from outside his own body. He’s floating and feeling and falling and none of that should be happening.

Ronan makes an agreeable noise.

Adam turns the page. Ronan stiffens beside him and reaches his hand out, but the next page is already visible.

Adam stares.


	14. Half-Dressed, Apologetic, A Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Ronan both wage losing battles.

The sketch, like the rest, is rough, but it’s an obvious likeness of Adam’s face. 

His heart thrashes and rattles in his chest. A thrill shoots through him even as his fingers go numb.

Then the sketchbook is gone, snatched away by Ronan, who’s on his feet. He’s over by the pool chairs in a flash, throwing on his discarded shirt before Adam can fully register that he’s moved.

“Ronan,” Adam says, “What are you doing?”

“Fucking nevermind, Parrish,” Ronan growls from his pool chair where he’s wrestling his jeans over his wet feet.

“Ronan!” Adam says. He pulls his feet from the pool and follows Ronan’s path to stand by the pool chair.

“Hey,” Adam says gently. When Ronan stops struggling with his jeans and turns to face Adam he’s frowning, his cheeks are blotched red, shoulders tense.

Adam laughs softly, incredulous. “What are you doing?” he asks again.  _ What am I doing? _

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Just forget it, Parrish,” he snarls.

“What, that you sketched me?”

“Yes, that I fucking sketched you!” Ronan’s near-shout ends with his voice breaking and his eyes focusing on the deck at his feet.

“What’s the matter with you sketching me?”

Ronan scrubs a hand over his head. “Nothing. Fuck - I...”

Adam sits next to him on the lounge chair, his shoulder pressed against Ronan’s. Such simple contact shouldn’t feel this good.

“It’s flattering,” Adam murmurs.

Ronan raises his head to side-eye Adam.

“What?”

“Flattering. That you sketched me.”

“Fuck off, Parrish,” Ronan rumbles, but the remark has no teeth.

“I know nothing about it, but I like your art - at least what you’ve shown me tonight,” Adam adds.

Ronan makes a reluctant, indistinct noise that could possibly be interpreted as “thanks.”

There’s a long moment where neither of them says anything, and neither of them shifts their shoulders. Adam doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. Ronan can’t or won’t look at Adam.

“I thought maybe you had something in common with Hamilton,” Ronan says, still regarding Adam in his peripheral vision, his tone still sulky. “You told me in the shop that you’d put yourself through prep school.”

Adam nods, relieved Ronan’s embarrassment is ebbing. 

“Some of his story was pretty familiar,” he admits.

“No shit.”

Another charged silence; Adam feels Ronan shift, pressing their shoulders together firmly. 

The heat of the night compresses Adam from the outside, while a different sort of heat flares in the pit of his stomach.  _ Friendship _ , Adam reminds himself.

“I should try to get some sleep,” Adam sighs.

Ronan bumps Adam’s shoulder with his before he stands and yanks his pants all the way up. “Sounds like a plan, Parrish.” He pads over to the pool to pick up his abandoned beer bottle and drain it before returning to the lounge chair to collect his boots and sketch pad. 

Adam stands beside the chair, waiting for Ronan. When their eyes meet, Ronan gives him what looks like a shy smile before starting across the roof deck.

Adam walks with Ronan toward the elevator, neither of them speaking. Adam can feel Ronan’s presence next to him - not just his body, but  _ him _ . He’s deep and anchoring and solid; Adam wants to melt into him permanently.  _ Friendship, dammit _ , he tells himself again.

When the doors open they both step into the bright artificial light of the elevator, back up against the far wall, and squint. Neither of them moves to push the button for their floor, and the doors slide shut without a programmed destination.

Adam huffs and reaches across Ronan to punch the button. He meets Ronan’s eyes when he’s done, as the car begins to move. Ronan wears a complicated expression as their eyes lock.  _ Those fucking eyes _ . Adam’s gaze drifts downward to Ronan’s mouth and catches there a moment as he pushes away the thought of Ronan’s lips on his. He locks eyes with Ronan again as the elevator doors open to their floor.

Adam steps into the corridor first, then turns to Ronan when he exits the elevator.

“Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” Adam says, voice hushed and raspy.

Ronan’s expression has gone from complicated to incomprehensible.

“Parrish?” he asks, the gravel in his voice raising goosebumps on Adam’s arms.

Before Adam can answer him, he hears Ronan’s boots hit the floor along with his sketchbook, and Ronan steps close, his fucking eyes burning with some strange, fierce fire. His hands frame Adam’s face just before Ronan’s lips find his.

Adam’s mind goes utterly blank for a brief moment before trickles of sensation become an overwhelming tide. Ronan’s lips are soft, and Adam leans into this kiss hungrily. His arms circle Ronan’s waist, hands sliding up his back, his shirt gathered in Adam’s fists, pulling Ronan closer. Ronan radiates heat, even through his clothes, which is soothing and arousing all at once.

Ronan’s lips part and Adam’s follow. When Ronan’s tongue meets his, a helpless moan escapes Adam’s throat. Ronan trembles against him as one hand tangles in Adam’s hair.

Adam can’t form coherent thoughts. His heart heaves and shudders while electric current jolts through his veins. He can only feel in this moment: the heat of Ronan’s skin, the slide of his lips, the crash of his tongue, the twitch of Ronan’s grasp in his hair. 

Ronan drags his lips along Adam’s cheek, whispering “Adam,” against his skin before kissing his jaw, then dipping to his neck. Adam’s knees give slightly as Ronan’s mouth and tongue work along thin, sensitive skin.

Adam’s brain takes notice of the taste Ronan left behind, the faint tang of beer on his tongue. Fear bursts down his spine just as Ronan’s teeth graze the column of his throat, exactly where four fingertip-sized bruises have faded. Memories of Jared tasting like alcohol leak into his hazy bliss, forming a dark cloud like blood in the water.

Ronan’s mouth works its way back to Adam’s. Even as Adam feels the fear mushroom in his gut, his mouth surges into Ronan’s, unable to stop. He kisses Ronan feverishly, attempting to blot out the poison seeping into his brain, trying to reclaim the unsullied miracle of Ronan’s mouth.

He can see Jared’s enraged face, can smell the alcoholic fog of his breath. _ “Who were you with? And don’t lie to me, Adam!” _ He hears Ronan’s voice again, saying  _ “You didn’t fucking deserve that.” _ The elation of Ronan’s lips on his. The taste of beer on Ronan’s tongue. The corona of light that consumed his vision when his head struck the railing. The word “brawled,” in Ronan’s voice, echoing in his mind. 

Ronan pulls away, his hands on Adam’s shoulders. Adam gasps and watches Ronan’s chest heave before looking into those blue eyes, lit with desire.

“Adam,” Ronan rasps, and Adam’s heart spasms to hear Ronan speak his name.

Ronan’s hand drops to take Adam’s.

“Will you…” Ronan says, trailing off, pulling Adam with him in the direction of his room.

Adam’s feet don’t move, and Ronan stops.

Ronan’s face blurs, the heat in those eyes dispersing like mist in the morning sun as Adam’s eyes swim with tears. He’s trembling when he shakes his head, whispers “I can’t,” and hurries away from Ronan to the room he shares with Blue.


	15. But The Sun Comes Up and the World Still Spins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan can’t catch a break.

Ronan had delivered Parrish and Blue directly to their apartment. Parrish had thanked Gansey again for the show, then said into his lap, “Thanks, Ronan, for driving us home,” before he bolted out of the car. He yanked both his and Blue’s bags out of the trunk and wasted no time getting inside the building.

Blue had lingered with Gansey outside the car while Ronan jacked up the volume on his electronica and viciously bit the leather circling his wrist.

Later, after Ronan had been back at the loft for over an hour, he still felt agitated and hummed with erratic energy. He couldn't sit still enough to draw, pacing wasn't helping, and after driving all the way back from New York, he knew getting into the BMW wasn't an option. He couldn't even think about physically sitting in the middle of the all the misery that must still linger in the car. Not that his thoughts were less miserable.

He’d found himself walking toward the theatre just as darkness fell, headphones delivering EDM at volume from that dark and vicious playlist he hadn’t  listened to since...well, in a long time.

His mind circled relentlessly from the night before with Adam through the wretched hell in the car, and back to the night before with Adam.

He’d tried to think about anything else, to think about nothing at all during those forced hours in the car, but his brain kept presenting him with the way Adam had clutched at his back, the ferocious response in his kiss, the agony of watching Adam hurry away down that corridor.

After Adam's scorching abandonment, he'd gone back to his room. He couldn't lie down; he couldn't be still; he paced madly back and forth, trying to understand how the intensity, the build-up, the intimacy of the rooftop got brutally hacked in half so quickly.

Ronan hadn’t been able to sleep after that. He didn’t understand. Not one fucking bit.

The way Adam had looked at him, the reverence of Adam's fingers along his tattoo, the hunger in Adam's kiss. There's no way he could have mistaken Adam's intent. Was there? Apparently, he had missed something. By a goddamned lot.

When the walls of the claustrophobic hotel room closed in making it impossible to pace, he went down to the hotel bar for a beer. Or three.

Before the sky grew light, he returned to his room. Collapsing on the king-sized, he managed to doze for a while, even if sleep eluded him until a text arrived from Gansey; a polite reminder that checkout was in thirty minutes along with a request to rendezvous in the lobby.

Ronan took the quickest shower possible, threw on the clothes he’d worn to the theatre, and took the stairs to the first floor. He marched up to Gansey, who was seated and scrolling through his phone.

“Keys,” he’d demanded, scowling, extending his open hand. His head felt like the apocalypse. He needed to be back in Boston; he should never have come to New York.

“Good morning to you, too, Ronan,” Gansey said as he stood, flashing a dazzling smile. “But I thought I was driving us back?”

Ronan’s scowl deepened as he took Gansey in: hair scuffed, khakis wrinkled, wilted aquamarine polo. Gansey rarely looked less than presidential. His expression was unfamiliar and oddly goofy. Ronan cocked his head as he bit out, “Not anymore, Dick. Keys.”

“No need to be coarse,” Gansey said, goofy expression unflagging. He fished in his pocket then placed the keys in Ronan’s upturned palm.

Ronan made a noise conveying more disdain than usual.

“What the actual fuck is up with you?” he snarled at Gansey.

Which lit Gansey up like Christmas.

“Nothing is wrong with me, Ronan,” Gansey said. “In fact,” he continued, his expression shifting from goofy to blissful, “everything is absolutely right. Nothing has ever been more right.”

Were Gansey’s pupils...enlarged?

“Are you high?” Ronan might be a little proud of Gansey if he said yes.

When Gansey took a moment to consider, one of Ronan’s brows shot up.

“High on life,” Gansey replied, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Don’t tell me, then,” Ronan spat. “I’ll get the car.”

He turned on his heel just as Gansey grabbed his arm and said “Ronan.”

He shifted back to face Gansey. “I had the most amazing night,” Gansey continued in a dreamy voice.

Ronan crossed his arms over his chest, saying nothing, until Gansey went on.

“I haven’t even been to bed,” he told Ronan in a hushed tone. The blush crept down his neck onto his chest. He pushed his glasses up with a knuckle. “Blue and I spent all night walking around the city. This is her first visit, and she wanted to see everything we could fit in. Which wasn’t much, mostly Times Square... - ” he trailed off with a shrug.

Something hard and cold settled in Ronan’s gut. He’d known. He’d seen this coming for a while. It was inevitable that Gansey and the maggot would end up with heart eyes for each other. But standing here while Gansey described the inevitable was painful. Not only in the aftermath of the disastrous evening with Adam; it always hurt when Gansey’s feelings caught fire for someone else.

“She’s so amazing, Ronan,” Gansey gushed. “She’s smart, and well-read, and creative.” Gansey paused for a moment then said, as if he’d only just realized, “And she calls me on my nonsense.”

“Good, I could use some help,” Ronan grunted.

“It’s all so - “ Gansey trailed off, staring over Ronan’s shoulder.

“Amazing?” Ronan finished for him, acid dripping from the single word.

“Yes,” Gansey breathed, his eyes finding Ronan’s again.

“All right,” Ronan told him with a curt nod, “Congratulations. I’m going to get the car.”

As he walked toward the stairwell to the garage, his boots thudded heavily on the polished floor.

Ronan sat in silence for a moment once he was behind the wheel of the BMW, his head tilted back against the headrest.

He felt like shit. The tragedy of his time with Adam now had a cataclysmic cherry on top.

He wondered if he’d ever get past the jealousy he felt over Gansey. Their relationship functioned on a brotherly level now, and he seldom felt the old pangs anymore. There had been a time, though, when his heart might have settled itself on Gansey and been happy. When his parents died, he’d been too deep in his grief to have any other feeling left. Gansey went into full-tilt protection mode, and once Ronan had ended things with Kavinsky, their relationship seemed to have skipped anything romantic with no opportunity to circle back.

He could barely breathe after last night with Adam. He had no idea how he was going to spend the next four hours crammed in a car with him. Once again, there was no room to sort out his Gansey-specific jealousy.

Ronan parked the car just outside the front door to wait for the others. He hit the trunk button when Gansey and Blue emerged. After they dumped their bags in the trunk, they climbed into the back seat and snuggled together.

“Where’s Parrish?” Ronan asked.

Blue yawned, then said, “He’s finding coffee, he’ll be here in a minute.”

The traitorous pair in the back were practically asleep, Gansey’s head tucked under Blue’s chin, before Adam finally climbed into the passenger seat. Since neither of them was awake to engage, the only person available for interaction was Parrish - who wouldn’t even look at him. Who laser-focused on drinking his coffee until it was gone, then shuttled the empty cup from one hand to the other for at least another hour. Who fidgeted in his seat. Who stared out the passenger window like it was his job. Who did not fall asleep, which might have made it possible for Ronan to ignore him.

Because Ronan could scarcely stand being right next to Adam while Adam was shutting him out.

He tried to ignore the memory of Adam’s lips on his. He tried to concentrate on the road. He tried valiantly not to look at Adam in his peripheral vision every three minutes, but he couldn’t stop. The thunderous pounding at the base of his skull threatened to make him pull the car over and stomp off to scream until he went hoarse.

Shucking off his headphones, he uses his key to open the back door of the theatre. Inside, the small hallway is still as death and soaked in darkness. In the meager light from the street, he fishes out the key for the shop door before closing the back door. Making his way carefully in the darkness to the shop at the opposite end of the hallway, he slides the key into the lock by feel then gropes along the shop wall to turn on the lights.

He scrubs a hand over his head in frustration before using his key to open the back door of the theatre. Inside, the small hallway is still as death and soaked in darkness. He fishes out the key for the shop door in the meager light from the street before closing the back door. Making his way carefully to the shop at the opposite end of the hallway, he slides the shop key into the lock by feel then gropes along the wall to turn on the lights.

Squinting against the glare, he moves toward the finished pieces. Construction continued over the weekend; the set pieces huddle together awaiting approval and further attention. They actually look fucking decent, he thinks, circling the wooden frames with newly-attached canvas that will serve as flats, the large platform that will hold the lockers, and the lockers themselves. He forces himself not to glance at the other end of the shop where the golf cart squats.

Ronan opens the first locker he can reach, testing the swing of the door on the hinge. He nods to himself, pleased with the way it's put together. He shuts the door then moves to open the next, checking each door on each set of hinges. He shuts the final door, then runs his fingers over the exterior before sitting down on the large platform. He lowers his head in his hands and sighs.

Thoughts of Adam continue to buzz in his mind. He needs to stop replaying things, stop trying to discover a reason everything went to shit. His lungs feel scalded, his stomach sour. He closes his eyes against the sting he feels behind his eyelids. He came here to busy himself, to shut his brain up; he might as well give that a fucking try.

This basecoat bullshit doesn’t need to be done immediately; he could wait, delegate the painting to the set crew tomorrow. But he needs something now. Needs to focus on something, to disengage his thoughts from that hotel rooftop, the hallway, the torment of the return trip. He’s doubtful that painting will be enough to pull his brain out of its ass, but nurses a tiny, belligerent flame of hope.

He drags out a tarp and arranges it on the floor, then finds a brush and some primer for the canvas. When he grabs the flat to move it to the tarp, he feels a sharp sting in his hand and drops the frame.  

There’s blood pooling at the edge of his palm. He checks the frame; there’s a small bloody screw tip sticking out from the wood.

The puncture wound pounds heavily when he takes the frame in both hands and puts his boot through the canvas. After he pulls his foot back, he swings the frame around to crash into the back of the lockers. The satisfying crack of breaking wood encourages him to swing the ruined frame against the lockers again and again, splintering the wood, shredding the canvas. In these moments of destruction, he doesn’t feel his raw heart or the tears he won’t allow.


	16. The World Turned Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam struggles after the road trip.

Adam lets go of his bag to fumble, one-handed, with his key ring. When the door opens he picks his bag up again and darts inside. He dumps his bag and Blue's just inside the door, then runs to the bathroom where he drops to his knees and dry heaves into the toilet. His stomach cramps rhythmically while his mind, almost as rhythmically, wills it to stop.

He splashes water onto his face, swipes his mouth and hands with a towel, snatches his bag from the living room, then hurries into his small bedroom and closes the door. He collapses on his bed and covers his eyes with an arm. From outside he can hear the muted sounds of traffic and the wail of a distant siren.

Everything quivers: his brain, his chest, his vision, his muscles. His body tensed up as he walked away from Ronan last night, and the return trip to Boston had only wound him tighter by the hour. Adam sucks in a lungful of air then lets it out slowly, an attempt to get the tension to stand down. He belly-breathes through his misery.

He regrets everything. He regrets his fear and his weakness, his wanting and his poor judgment, his time with Jared, his neglectful upbringing; for a brief moment he regrets the air in his lungs, then pushes that thought away. 

Shame trickles through him again, as it does every time he recalls leaving Ronan in that hallway. That moment is carved in stone; he can’t ever undo it or erase it. He hates the sickening jolt that accompanies intrusive memories of Jared any time they pop up. But having Jared haunt him while kissing Ronan was loathsome. Is loathsome. Adam didn’t know it was possible to feel this vulnerable and undefended. He hates these memories that have such power to debilitate him. 

This avalanche of shame makes it hard to imagine being in Ronan’s presence ever again. The four hours in the car with him had been excruciating horror. 

He closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut, as if that’s effective in erasing the searing humiliation.

Adam concentrates on his breathing, diving beneath the chaos of his tangled thoughts and feelings, searching for some peace.

When twenty minutes of breathing and searching fail to produce results, he knows he can't lay here one minute longer.

Maybe he needs to be productive, to occupy his hands. There are a few things he must finish before Greased Lightning is ready. If he could polish off those tasks tonight, he'd be done with the project and wouldn't have to risk running into Ronan in the damned shop. He might be able to avoid Ronan altogether until they both returned to their respective educations. Which is a powerfully motivating prospect.

Adam changes into coveralls and emerges from his room, hoping Blue might still be downstairs with Gansey. 

She is not. She’s also emerging from her bedroom. “I’m going to get some work done on Greased Lightning,” he says without looking at her, heading swiftly for the front door without looking at her.

“Hold on,” she says, a distinct edge in her voice. “I’m coming with you.”

He sighs and looks at the floor.

“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.” 

“Of course you’ll be fine,” Blue says, “but I’m going with you.” 

Blue grabs her keys; Adam opens the door and steps into the hallway, waiting until she catches up with him.

They walk a block in silence, assailed by exhaust fumes and the racket made by the traffic clogging the city streets. The only thing he misses about home is the abundance of trees and sky and stars. Although he prefers living in Boston, he often wishes for more opportunities to breathe fresh air and listen to nature speak.

The humidity presses around Adam, much the way it had last night on a New York rooftop. He deliberately wrenches his thoughts away from that memory.

“What’s going on, Adam?” she finally asks.

Adam shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but even he can hear the insincerity in his voice.

Blue makes a brief gagging noise. “Stop it,” she barks. “Did something happen last night? I thought you turned in early?” They walk a few more steps before she gasps, grabs Adam by the shoulders, and says, “Oh hell, no, not Jared!” Her fierce gaze bores into his.

Adam’s answer is quiet. “No, I haven’t seen him since…”

Blue’s hand thumps her chest, over her heart, then she smacks Adam’s shoulder. “Coronary averted.”

“I know something’s up,” she continues as they resume walking. “And you need to tell me.”

“Nothing is up,” Adam insists, even as he finds it difficult to breathe. Ronan had practically just dropped them off; Adam’s chest is still tight with mortification from being crammed in a car with Ronan after walking away from him. His stomach hasn’t stopped churning. It takes a great deal of focus to keep from clenching and unclenching his fists in front of Blue now.

Adam is acutely aware of the mess he is inside, how he’s struggling to keep that mess below the surface.The desire he felt for Ronan in the wee hours hasn’t dissipated at all; the intimacy lingers like fog, as does the memory of leaving Ronan standing in the hallway. His heart is an ember in his chest, burning with longing for Ronan with one beat, terrified of Ronan’s capacity for violence with the next. He shivers, even in the sweltering night air, and hopes Blue doesn’t notice.

Adam was annoyed at himself for letting Blue come with him. He was reasonably sure he wouldn't see Jared; even so, his annoyance melts away when he realizes he's thankful for Blue's presence.

“Mmm-hmm," Blue huffs. "I'll give you a pass for now. You can tell me once we're done." She uses her key to the performer's entrance, and, once inside, flicks on the hallway lights. "I'll meet you in the shop when I'm ready to go," she tells Adam before continuing to the tiny costume room.

Adam crosses the lobby, his work boots quiet on the worn carpet, the open expanse dim and one-dimensional in the muted light that leaks in from the street through the glass doors. He takes out the shop key before turning into the dark hallway but stops for a moment when he realizes the shop lights are already on. Either the build crew is working, or they left the lights on. Adam sighs and resumes his progress.

As he nears the shop door he hears a sharp, shattering, noise followed by a grunt. Adam steps into the door frame then freezes. Ronan Lynch has something clutched in both hands, which he is smashing over and over again, destroying. Adam can see the profile of his flushed, contorted face, the bunched shoulder muscles. Wood cracks and splinters, tattered canvas trails through the air. Ronan throws the ruined wood and canvas thing to the floor like it burns his hands, then turns away from the door. He hurls a plastic tote of tape and extension cords, then kicks a bucket of dowel rods, sending it skittering across the floor. His boot down comes down on an ancient wooden crate. The corner disintegrates with a crunch; the box of office supplies perched on top of the crate flies into the air; papers flutter to the floor.

A jolt of fear goes through Adam before he turns silently on his heel, unseen by Ronan in his frenzy, to retrace his steps.

When Adam reaches the performer’s entrance, he can’t catch his breath. He leans over, his hands on his bent knees, gulping air. The thunder of his pulse is all he can hear.

He feels the way he used to after Jared hit him: confused, frightened, heartsick. Or maybe just sick. He feels like a terrible person, even though he knows, objectively, he's done nothing terrible and is not terrible. He wonders for the millionth time if he's actually attracted to this on some deeper level, if he draws violent people to him in some instinctive way, if this is what he deserves. He's so tired. Too tired to put himself through these mental paces right now. Again.

Once the riot inside him starts to calm, he turns down the hall toward the costume room where Blue is working. The tiny space is stuffed with costumes hanging from racks; in the center of the cramped room a small sewing table squats grudgingly, with an old workhorse sewing machine sitting on top. The overhead lights are off; Blue prefers to work by the light of a compact-but-powerful table lamp next to the sewing machine.

She looks up from the pants she is hemming when Adam comes through the door.

 


	17. Tell ‘em Where You Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam brings his tangled feelings to the costume room.

Adam grabs a chair from behind a costume rack lined with formals, setting it across the small sewing table from Blue. He says nothing for a moment as they share a heavy gaze.

"Are you okay?" Blue asks. The costumes stuffed into this confined space suck up sound greedily, mute her voice.

He rolls his eyes and sighs before he admits, “Ronan kissed me when we were in New York.”

Blue’s eyebrows shoot upward immediately, but she says nothing.

“I also kissed him.”

Silence crawls between them for several long minutes before Blue closes her eyes and says,”You need to talk to me.”

He sighs. "It took a long time, but I finally realized I was attracted to him after the show. I couldn't sleep, so I went to the roof deck to get some air. Guess who was already up there." He rolls his eyes.

"So we talked. It got pretty - personal. When we finally got back to our floor, he kissed me just outside the elevator." His gaze drops to the floor. "He'd been drinking a beer, and I could taste it. He'd mentioned his violent past.I panicked. It was too close to Jared. When he asked me to go to his room, I told him I couldn't and bolted." Adam shakes his head. His ears go pink, and the color creeps onto his cheeks.

The rich silence in the room is almost suffocating until Blue speaks.

“I thought you couldn’t stand him,” Blue finally says, her voice unusually quiet. “I mean, I know you’ve been able to tolerate him since we’ve all been working on the show, but I had no idea…” 

He shrugs. "You've been a little preoccupied," he says gently, thinking of Blue sitting close to Gansey in the theatre, snuggled up with him in the back seat of the BMW only a few hours ago. 

After a moment he continues. “I meant to finish up Greased Lightning tonight, but when I got to the shop Ronan was in there. He was smashing and kicking things.” A new wave of confusion washes through him. He doesn’t understand Ronan and he doesn’t understand himself. He wants to sort out how he feels, but his feelings see-saw back and forth so fast he can’t pin them down.

Blue frowns. "Why would he be trashing a set piece? Or anything here?"

Adam shakes his head. “I’m not sure.” He tries to summon the right words. “That’s why I didn’t go with him…The alcohol and the - and I - can’t. Not again.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

Blue goes to Adam, kneeling beside his chair in the claustrophobic space, wrapping her arms around him. He doesn’t let many people touch him like this; something inside him warms when she hugs him. He leans his cheek on her head. “Why do I feel ashamed?” he whispers into her hair.

She pulls back far enough to see his face, keeping her arms loosely around him. “Why  _ do _ you feel ashamed?”

“Leaving him like that. I practically ran from him.”

“You don’t owe him anything, Adam,” Blue says, scowling, her eyes fierce.

“I know,” Adam sighs. “But I wanted to go with him until I freaked out and left. I couldn’t explain. Not that - not to him. Especially in the car. Jesus, those four hours were a particular sort of hell.”

Blue stands, parking her ass on the small sewing table to face Adam.

"You can still explain to him if you want, or feel the need," she says,”but please don’t feel ashamed that you put a stop to things once you felt uncomfortable. Those feelings are important and valid.”

Adam scrubs both his hands over his face.

“After last semester I decided to just focus on the plan, focus on school, focus on me and my own welfare. And then Ronan happened. He’s so - “ Adam is silent for a long moment. Blue sees the tangle of his feelings in the depths of his eyes. “He’s the first person I’ve been seriously attracted to since - well, you know.” 

Blue rolls her eyes at his reference to Jared.

“It felt so good, Blue,” he admits. “I wasn’t sure I could feel that way again.”

"You just needed time and distance from that mouth-breather," Blue assures him. "Nothing's broken or gone. You can still have a good relationship."

Adam nods. “I can,” he agrees. “I’m just not sure I can with Ronan.”

“He hasn’t threatened you or hurt you, has he?” Blue looks like she’s ready to commit murder if he offers the wrong answer.

Adam laughs soundlessly, “No, not even close. Down, girl,” he commands.

“Good, “ Blue bites out. “For Ronan’s sake.” 

Adam snorts. “It’s not lost on me that you are prepared to rain violence on someone who may have committed violence.”

Blue kicks Adam’s shin.

"That's not the point," she says before her frown dissipates and she asks,”I know Ronan’s asshole quotient is high, but if he hasn’t threatened or hurt you, why can’t you have a good relationship with him?”

Adam looks at the floor. “I don’t trust my judgment much right now,” he says, his honeyed voice so low it’s practically a whisper. “Ronan’s similar to Jared in ways that scare me. And there’s been some violence in his past. No matter how much I’m dyin’ to get to know him, I don’t want to be right back in the same kind of relationship with someone new.”

Blue uncrosses her arms and plops herself in Adam's lap; he grunts when she lands but gives her a half smile.

"I know it's scary," she says, "And I'm not sure I have much advice to give. You have to be able to move forward without fear."

Adam nods into his lap.

"I'm not sure when that will happen. You might need more time to trust yourself. Ronan might be everything you fear he could be. But maybe there's a way you can explore the possibility of him without a lot of risks."

Adam tilts his head and frowns. “What do you mean?” Something at the back of his neck is prickling.

“Gansey knows Ronan best. We could talk to him about it,” Blue offers.

Adam immediately starts shaking his head. “I can’t do that, Blue.”

She nods. Adam notices a rare and faint blush on her cheeks.

"I didn't think so. But, Gansey's so great." Her voice melts into something almost sweet. "He knows Ronan so well and has great insight. If you ever change your mind, he'd be happy to talk." 

Adam realizes both of them are in pretty deep.

“If you can’t talk to Gansey, maybe think about talking to Ronan. It has to better than carrying around backed-up feelings and avoiding him.” 

“Ugh,” Adam groans. ‘I’ll think about it,” he tells her, but the way he says it projects his skepticism. “I’d almost rather go back to Henrietta than have that conversation.”

“Asshole,” Blue says softly.


	18. A Fraction of Your Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam finally finishes Greased Lightning.

Adam sleeps like the dead that night, then puts in a full day at the garage before finding himself back at the theatre. 

He watches Blue as she walks down the hallway to the costume room. He can feel the presence of more people in the building this evening; it’s not deathly quiet and dark as it was last night. Adam steels himself before heading for the shop again. He can hear strains of “Summer Nights” emanating from the rehearsal in the auditorium. 

His stomach protests; his dread and unease had grown with the day, leaving him nauseated and unable to eat. He wants to be anywhere other than the shop. He's still sick at the thought of running into Ronan, but he needs to finish this project, and he can complete the work on Greased Lightning tonight. He just has to make it through the next few hours.

Adam can hear voices and the sound of hammering coming from the shop. He takes a deep breath before walking through the door. 

He forces himself not to look around the room for Ronan by waving to some of the set crew as he passes; some are reinforcing a bed frame, but most are building or painting flats.

At the other end of the shop, the golf car waits. If Ronan is here, Adam hasn't noticed him in the shop. It doesn't mean Adam's in the clear, but for now, he can catch a breath and work alone. He unties the sleeves of his coveralls from around his waist and slips his arms inside. 

After Adam had replaced the batteries, the golf cart was, to his surprise, mostly functional. To make sure everything was safe to use on stage, he had replaced the brake drums and brake pads, as well as the steering gearbox. 

Adam was surprised at how relaxing the work itself had been. He’d removed the body, the top, and it’s supports - which made the golf cart seem like a giant antique roller skate with a steering wheel. Then he’d methodically removed old parts, cleaned away the grime, applied lubricant, and installed the new parts. The steering gearbox had been a little more intensive; some of the old parts hadn’t been anxious to move. It took some finessing with his mechanic’s hands and the use of a pickle fork, but Adam finally removed the old parts to make way for the new.

He’d finished the replacement process just before the excursion to New York. All that’s left is replacing a tire and a headlight.

He locates the new tire and the small jack Gansey had procured for him, then sets about changing the left rear tire.

After he wrestles the old tire off and slides the new one into place, Adam feels a hand on his shoulder. He manages to quell his urge to flinch.

“Adam?” asks a female voice behind him.

He turns to peer upward at the tall, smiling woman with a chin-length swath of shiny chestnut bangs framing the right side of her face under a backward snapback.

“Hey, yeah, I’m Adam,” he says, standing to his feet, reaching for the rag stashed in his back pocket, wiping his hands.

“I’m Cherise,” she says, extending her hand to shake his, her brown eyes snapping. “The lumber and framing supplies are here. Is this a good time?”

He remembers seeing Cherise at the production meetings; Ronan brought her on to help with some of the art tasks. She’s slightly taller than Adam, with broad shoulders and very short hair, except for the sweeping bangs. Once Adam gets the golf car in working order, Cherise will make the outside look like a mini hot-rod.

“I’ll just need to finish this tire, and put in a new headlight, but, yeah, now’s good,” he tells her. He's happy to help if it saves him from being asked to come back after tonight. He feels tense and wretched and wants this project unmistakably completed. 

She nods, shoving her hands into the pockets of her overalls.“Great,” she tells him. “Come find me when you’re ready and we’ll drag all that stuff in here.” She winks at him before turning around and walking away. He stares absently after her for a moment before bending down to finish tightening the lug nuts of the tiny tire.

As he works on removing the dead headlight, he's on high alert for any indication that Ronan is in the shop. A particular kind of grunt, a growled greeting, the sound of heavy boots. It will be hard enough to hear through the construction sounds on the other end of the shop and the general buzz of conversation; he'd prefer not to be taken by surprise if he can help it. His anxiety about being face to face with Ronan Lynch is off the charts, but even so, Adam knows part of him would be thrilled to see those damned blue eyes again. He mentally kicks himself for having such contradictory feelings and marvels at how capricious and ridiculous his emotions are.

Once the old headlight is swapped for a new one, he sneaks a glance around the shop; still no indication Ronan is here. He ambles over to Cherise, who is talking to another woman near the large roll-up door near the back.

She turns to him with a half smile. “All done?”

“Yeah,” Adam tells her, putting on his work gloves. “Where’s the stuff we need to haul in?”

The other woman puts a hand on Cherise’s shoulder before leaving them.

“Just outside,” she tells Adam. “Come with me.” She turns around to punch the button that raises the roll-up door. When the heat rushes in, Adam wishes he’d left his overalls tied at his waist. He can see dark clouds rolling in. The sooner they bring the lumber inside the better.

He and Cherise make a few trips from the pickup parked behind the theatre, bringing plywood of various sizes inside and stacking it near the golf cart.

"So what's next for this old guy?" Adam asks her when all the lumber is inside, gesturing to the cart before extracting his arms from his coveralls.

“I’m building the panels with wood and foam. Once that’s done we get to paint the hot-rod.” Her smile is wicked and enthusiastic.

Adam smiles back, grateful this conversation gives him something to focus on instead of looking for Ronan. “The painting is the reward for all the build work, then?”

“Pretty much. It’s just a bit more artistic than construction.”

“I thought it was supposed to be an old clunker first before it’s a hot rod,” Adam says, half-sitting on the front of the golf cart.

"It will be," Cherise says. "Once I build the body, we'll custom-make a canvas cover and paint it to look like shit," she finishes with a laugh. "The guys will pull it off during the song to reveal the money wheels."

“Are you painting both versions?” Adam asks.

Cherise sits in the golf cart. “Nope,” she tells Adam, swiping the swath of her bangs from her eyes. “Ronan said he’d paint the shitbox.” 

Adam forces his face to lock in place at the mention of Ronan’s name. When his heart wedges into his throat, he nods to give himself more time before he asks, “Are you RISD as well?”

"Yeah," she says, "Ronan and I got paired up on a project first semester." She smiles wickedly, amusement flickering in her brown eyes. "When we both survived the project and got a damn good grade besides, we stopped snarling at each other and settled into this grudging friendship."

Adam shakes his head and purses his lips. “Why does that make incredible sense?”

“You work on actual cars, right, not just golf carts?” she asks him; he’s glad she’s the one to steer them away from talking about Ronan.

“I do,” he says with a genuine smile. “That’s how my roommate roped me into this project.”

Cherise nods then tilts her head sideways to look up at Adam. "Would you be willing to look at my truck? I'd just like to get an idea what's wrong with it before I take it in. I'm sick of getting fucked over by mechanics."

“Sure,” Adam says, “I’ll take a look at it for you.” 

She closes her eyes and sighs with relief. "Thank you, Adam. You're my hero. I didn't want to go in blind again."

“In fact,” he continues, partially to deflect the compliment, “I’m working at Chiara Auto Repair this summer. I’ll still look at it for you, but you should have it worked on there. They aren’t dicks who want to gouge you. That’s a big reason I work for them.”

Before Adam can register what’s happening, Cherise is out of the golf cart, wrapping him a tight hug. It takes a minute before he smiles and returns the hug. He's not prone to hugging strangers, but Cherise seems genuine and he doesn't hate hugging her back. He shoves the memory of being held in Ronan’s arms swiftly away.

“Thank you. Really,” she says with a squeeze. 

“No problem,” he tells her.

She leans back to see his face, her arms still loosely around his shoulders.

"The prospect of fixing the truck has weighed me down for weeks. It's such a relief to find someone who can help."

“Don’t let it bother you,” Adam tells her. “We’ll see that it’s taken care of.”

Cherise plants a kiss on his cheek, then lets him go.

“Now help me sort some of this lumber,” she tells him over her shoulder, already on her way over to the stack.

 


	19. There You Are An Ocean Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan goes to opening night with Gansey and Blue, but his mind is elsewhere.

Ronan crashes into a seat next to Gansey just as the house lights go down.

“Lovely of you to make it on time,” Gansey says, low and droll.

Ronan merely grunts, nodding across Gansey to Blue, as the curtain opens on the first day of school at Rydell High. Ronan is pleased with the way the set looks, even from the back of the auditorium.

Opening night snuck up on him. The weeks between New York and now had passed in a haze of hard work and anguish. When he wasn’t working on meeting a production deadline, he was trying to forget about Adam, cursing himself over his inability to let it all go. 

Even tonight, he had waited until the last possible moment to take his seat because he’d been standing inside the auditorium doors, scanning the crowd for Adam’s face. He was sick of himself, sick of being so pathetic, sick of wanting what he plainly could not have.

He closes his eyes and sinks further down into his seat as the cast starts to sing “Summer Nights.”

He remembers hearing the cast rehearse that song the last time he saw Adam in the workshop. His heart hurts suddenly and thoroughly; his chest fills with misery.

His mind is no help, replaying the last night Adam worked on Greased Lightning. 

Ronan had been late getting to the theatre that night; he’d marched into the workshop and immediately focused on the state of flat construction and eyeballed the painting in progress.

When his gaze drifted, as it always did, to the golf cart, jealousy sparked at the base of his skull, blazing through his bones.. 

Adam had Cherise in his arms, wearing a goofy expression. As he watched Cherise kiss Adam’s cheek, shock and shame rattled in tandem down his spine.

He’d turned on his heel and stalked out of the workshop.

Ronan flew up the stairs to the second floor, then banged through the door of the small conference room. He crouched down next to the conference table in the unlit room, put his head in his hands, tried to control his breathing.

_ Shit. _

What had he just witnessed? Less than 48 hours ago Adam had been kissing him feverishly. And tonight his arms are wrapped around Cherise. 

_ Cherise _ .  _ Fuck. _

Was Adam that opportunistic? And did it have to be someone from Ronan's orbit? Was Adam behaving like the biggest dick known to mankind on purpose? Was that fucking display of goddamned PDA Adam's doing? He knew Cherise was usually direct. She had initiated the whole thing, Ronan's brain told him. Ronan's heart, however, was not inclined to logical explanations; it ached.

_ Shit. _

He stood up, scrubbing his hands over his face, only to sink back into the nearest chair.

He had to go back down there and get things done. Which was fucking impossible now that he’d caught the little drama by the golf cart.

_ Shit. _

A zap of lightning blazed in the dark conference room, followed by the snarl of thunder.

He couldn't stop thinking about Cherise with Adam. The loose, dopey smile Adam wore. His hands on her hips. That sweet kiss she bestowed on his cheek. Is this why Adam left him standing in the hallway? Was it loyalty or fidelity or whatever-the-fuck to Cherise?       

Ronan couldn't stand to ask himself any more questions that would linger unanswered. His heart felt shredded.

_ Fuck _ .

Erratic pulses of lightning reached through the window to play along the wall. Ronan pushed his agony down through a filter of determination, trying to make it strong enough to strap on like armor. Enough to carry himself downstairs, back to the workshop. Enough to protect himself, he hoped. He drew down his scowl as he strode through the workshop door.

Ronan checked in with the crew, his back turned to the other end of the shop. As he discussed progress and the schedule for the rest of the week, he had to raise his voice over the rush of torrential rain against the roll-up door, the windows, the roof. They all looked up as one when thunder shivered every pane of glass and the large roll-up door.

When the workshop plunged into blackness, audible gasps subsided into charged murmurs.

Until a familiar, commanding voice rang out in the darkness.

“If you have a flashlight with you, please locate it and turn it on,” Gansey encouraged in his dulcet tones.

Ronan used his phone as a flashlight to locate his bag, then dug through it for his Maglite. The clean beam cut through the murk, racing along the floor until it caught on a pair of boat shoes.

“Gansey,” he said, to identify himself in the dark.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey said, “Thank you.”

Ronan kept the pool of light trained on Gansey’s feet as he crossed the workroom to stand near his friend. 

When he stopped next to Gansey, he heard Cherise, her voice pitched to carry over the din of the rain, “There’s not much we can accomplish without power.”

As a flashlight flared behind Gansey, Ronan realized too late that Adam and Cherise were also standing next to Gansey. He froze, his flashlight beam pointed down, hopeful the darkness still obscured his face.

“I didn’t see you when I came in, I’m glad you’re here,” Gansey told Ronan.

“We could go now,” Ronan heard Adam suggest, “and check back a little later to see if the power’s on.”

“Any guess how long we’ll be without power?” Gansey asks Ronan, watching his face curiously.

Ronan couldn’t help himself, his gaze went directly to Adam - who was turned away from Ronan, looking at Cherise. 

Cherise swiped her bangs under her snapback. “Let’s make a run for it, then.” She noticed Ronan’s stare, smiled wickedly, and gave a brief wave. “Later, Lynch.” 

There’s enough light for Ronan to watch her grab Adam’s hand as Adam directed the beam of his flashlight ahead of them. 

Adam turned to Gansey. “We’ll be back in a bit,” he said, not allowing his gaze to snag on Ronan’s. Adam and Cherise moved cautiously toward the back door. Ronan watched them move away, numbness pooling in his gut, creeping upward through his chest.

When he felt the weight of Gansey’s gaze on him, Ronan turned to face him. Gansey was frowning slightly and wearing an odd look.

“Ronan?” Gansey asked.

As Adam and Cherise slipped outside through the door, Ronan hurried after them, leaving Gansey’s question hanging in the air.

He reached the parking lot just as they were opening the doors of the truck. The driving rain soaked Ronan immediately, his shirt clinging to his torso, his jeans weighed down like lead, the crisp circle of the Maglite beam flooded where it shone on the pavement.

“Cherise!” Ronan cried. His voice sounded so alien, so aberrant. He had no idea why Cherise’s name leapt from his lips. Adam’s name had been on the tip of his tongue. Adam is the reason he charged out into that storm. It’s Adam he needs. It’s Adam Ronan wants.

Adam climbed into the cab of the truck as Cherise turned to Ronan.

“Don’t worry, Lynch,” she yelled. ‘I won’t molest him. Too much.”  Cherise threw her head back to laugh as she got behind the wheel.

Ronan didn’t move as he watched the truck pull away, letting the rain nearly drown him.

Gansey met him inside the shop door; Ronan promptly whipped his sopping shirt off and flung it away.

***

Ronan flinches away from his memory just as Rizzo and the Pink Ladies finish "Look at Me I'm Sandra Dee." 

He stands when the house lights come up for intermission.

“I’m going,” he tells Gansey, who frowns.

“You don’t want to see the rest of the show?”

“I’m going home.”

Ronan leaves through the shop door and makes his way back to the loft.


	20. Intemperate, Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collision and confrontation.

Adam doesn’t mind having dinner with Gansey and Blue, really, but he’d rather be home.

Gansey invited him to dinner, just a small and personal “thank you” for his contributions to the production. “Nothing elaborate,” Gansey had said. “We’ll grab something at that place I frequent across the street from the loft.”

Adam didn’t think that was necessary, but couldn’t come up with a way to say no without seeming rude. Truthfully, he can’t wait until the performances are over and his association with this project is only a thin memory. 

Adam feels exhausted by all the Ronan static in his mind. When he's not trying to find a way to loosen the Gordian knot of his situation with Ronan, he's cursing himself for being unable to let it lie and walk away. He's disgusted with this liminal version of himself; it makes him feel weak and foolish and defective. Now, more than ever, he's got to find a way to move ahead. Maybe, now that he has time to focus, now that running into Ronan won’t be a constant worry, he’ll finally be able to make some progress.

"I'm so glad you lent us your talents, Adam," Gansey says, helping himself to a seafood spring roll from among the array of appetizers. The main course hasn't arrived, so Adam is forced to make conversation. "Greased Lightning is amazing," Gansey continues. "The cast loves it, and the audience loves that number every night."

Adam smiles shyly. “I was happy to help. I’m glad you decided to use the golf cart. That made everything easier.”

“It gets a great reaction, Adam,” Blue chimes in, leaning into Gansey on their side of the table. She drags her eggplant through a puddle of pesto.“You ought to come see the show before it closes.”

Adam purses his lips. “I’ll try to do that,” he tells them. As with this dinner, Adam doesn’t have an excuse not to see the show, and he’d rather stay away. He’ll avoid going unless Blue pressures him into it.

"What's next for you after the project is over?" Adam asks Gansey, desperate to shift the conversation away from the show.

“We have a few weeks before we have to wander back to campus,” Gansey says with a shrug. He glances at Blue, then says “We’ve talked about taking some road trips.” Adam has never seen Gansey blush before. “Gettysburg, Monticello, maybe Yorktown...Salem, for certain.” Gansey takes Blue’s hand and grins at her.

Adam quirks one eyebrow and smiles at Blue. “Well, well,” he says.

“Shut up, Adam,” she says, laughing. 

Even hip-deep in this Ronan-shaped mess, he’s pleased to see Blue so happy. Even if it is Gansey who generates that happiness.

Adam turns back to Gansey with a question about their road trips queued up, but he doesn’t ask it. Gansey is wearing an odd expression Adam can’t parse.

“Excuse me a moment,” Gansey says, leaving the table.

Adam turns to Blue, who is watching Gansey over Adam’s shoulder, her expression as peculiar as Gansey’s.

“What?” Adam asks.

“Um,” Blue says, not looking at him. “Ronan is here.”

~~~

Ronan whips into the restaurant lobby, turning down the volume of his music and removing his headphones. 

He didn't want to stop working on the painting that's occupied his day, but he hasn't eaten at all and is in no mood to wrestle something into existence in the kitchen. Once he gets back to the loft, he intends to wolf down this food and resume painting.

He stands in line behind a family waiting to be seated, fiddling with his mp3 player. Until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

He turns to scowl at the intruder, who turns out to be Gansey.

“Oh,” Ronan growls. “You’re here too?”

Gansey smiles. “I am. I saw you come in and wanted to ask you to join us.”

“Us?” One of Ronan’s eyebrows ascends.

“Blue and I are having dinner with Adam,” Gansey tells him, gesturing to their table where Blue is bent toward Adam, speaking rapidly.

_ Shit. _

“Gansey,” Ronan says, “I’m in the middle of a painting. I don’t have fucking time to…”

Gansey's expression is pained. "Please, at least share our appetizers. Take a small break; then you can get back to your art.”

Ronan looks over Gansey’s shoulder. Blue is still speaking to Adam. Adam’s shoulders have slumped. Ronan feels like he’s taken a roundhouse kick to the stomach. 

Heat begins to crawl up his backbone. He's sick of feeling squeamish in Adam's presence, of wondering if Adam sees him as some predator, of not knowing why he's so profoundly cut off. Ronan thinks about getting soaked in the storm as Adam rides away with Cherise. He is awash in anger.

“Fine, appetizers,” Ronan spits, his scowl darkening as he stalks off toward the table. He watches Blue sit up straight and stop talking.

“Maggot,” Ronan says when he gets to the table, nodding at Blue. He yanks out the unoccupied chair. “Parrish,” he says, as he sits, looking deliberately at Adam. 

Ronan watches Adam, who watches Gansey reseat himself on the other side of the table until he hears Ronan say his name. Adam turns his head reluctantly. When he raises his eyes, he meets Ronan's fierce glare; Ronan can see Adam wilt slightly before saying, "Lynch," then looking swiftly away.

“I’ve dragged Ronan away from his art for a bit to socialize with us,” Gansey says before taking another bite of his spring roll.

Ronan puts three crab cakes on his plate then dumps a large dollop of curry mayonnaise next to them. Foregoing utensils, he grabs a cake with his fingers, pushing it through the mayo before shoving the entire thing into his mouth.

Blue yanks her gaze from Adam’s to regard Ronan.

"What sort of art are you working on?" she asks him.

Even Ronan can hear the wariness in her voice, see the apprehension in her eyes. Her question is a deflection; she’s drawing Ronan’s ire to keep it from landing on Adam.

“Painting,” Ronan says around the crab cake he hasn’t yet swallowed.

“You’ve been painting all day, then?” Gansey asks, frowning a little.

Ronan merely grunts in answer.

“There’s no need to be rude, Ronan,” Gansey tells him.

“Feel free to cut that shit out,” Blue says. Gansey nods once in approval.

“I think you’ll need to talk to Parrish about cutting things out,” Ronan says, smug and insolent, his mouth a cruel curve. He turns to Adam, his voice a venomous purr when he says,  “You’re very good at that.” 

Adam shifts his gaze to Ronan. His expression is absolute misery.

“Ronan,” Adam says, his voice hoarse. 

Before Adam can continue, Ronan stands and shoves his chair in with excessive force.“Forget it, Parrish,” he spits. The torment evident on Adam’s face makes Ronan feel like shit. And he already felt like shit when he walked in here. Now he feels like six warehouses full of shit and it’s just too much.

“I’ll see you at home, Gansey.” 

Ronan slings his headphones back on while he waits to pick up his to-go order at the counter, throws the door open so hard it bangs into the wall, and steps out into the twilight.


	21. I’m Doing The Best I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue drags Adam to the cast party; Gansey makes an offer Adam can’t refuse.

Adam can’t sleep. 

After Ronan detonated in their presence, Gansey and Blue had provided their counsel while Adam, listless, picked at his meal.

“I’m so sorry, Adam,” Gansey had said. “He hasn’t had an outburst like that in a long time - not that I’m attempting to excuse this outburst.”

“It’s okay, Gansey. You have nothing to apologize for,” Adam said. 

He felt numb. He’d been so blindsided by Ronan’s fury he couldn’t form a suitable response. And Ronan seemed miserable. Because of Adam. He’s grateful to feel numb; later, when it wears off, he’ll have to deal with some misery of his own.

“It’s not okay, I assure you,” Gansey said. His frown deepened. “Ronan’s been tense for the last several weeks. Also not an excuse for his behavior, but something is likely bothering him. He won’t talk to me, I’ve tried,” Gansey sighs. His hazel eyes are filled with concern. “I’m sorry you’ve been caught in the crossfire.”

Gansey had driven them all back to the apartment, where Blue insisted Adam watch a movie with them, but Adam needed to be alone. When he declined, Blue wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” she whispered in his hearing ear. “When you want to talk, I’m here.”

Adam squeezed her tight and nodded because he didn’t trust his voice in front of Gansey.

When he let go, she leveled a fierce look at him and said: "I love you."

“Love you, too, Blue.” 

In his room, he’d tried to distract himself entirely with a novel, but he kept reading the same sentence over and over with no hint of comprehension. He fired up his laptop and found the most ridiculous video game available, but he didn’t have the attention span for that, either.

Finally, Adam settled for changing into some athletic shorts, turning off the lights, and laying in bed, curled around his agony.

Ronan's scowl and scathing glare, the anger rolling off him in waves, the pain in the depths of his eyes; these vivid memories feel like spikes driven into his skull, tangible evidence of the mess Adam made. The mess he's mired in.

Adam drifts into a wretched, restless sleep; he surfaces again at 1:40 am. He gets out of bed, still mostly asleep, and stumbles toward the bathroom. He can hear muffled voices behind Blue's bedroom door, which tells him Gansey is staying the night.

He gulps down a glass of water in the kitchen before returning to his bed to repeat the entire process: remembering Ronan’s outburst, feeling despondent, failing to find a solution to the situation, drifting off into a shallow sleep, waking up a short time later.

This pattern persists for most of the next week. Anxiety and lack of sleep render Adam grumpy and exhausted; his misery makes him isolate. The nights Gansey is present he spends in his room; otherwise, he's pleased when he's the only one home.

Blue puts up with this until the final Sunday of the  _ Grease  _ run. She corners him at the kitchen table where he’s slumped over, bleary-eyed, eating cereal without tasting it.

“I want you to come to the cast party tonight,” she tells him.

His face crumples in a display of distaste. The thought of socializing with people from the project he barely knows is exhausting and unappealing. He shouldn’t be in Ronan’s orbit now, either; not after the run-in at the restaurant.

“Gansey’s going with you, right?” he asks, leaving his spoon in his bowl.

She snorts. “Of course, but I want you to come with us.”

“More third-wheeling,” he says, shaking his head.

"Nope. I am your best friend. Gansey is your friend. You need to get out of this apartment and stop moping. If nothing else as a favor to me" Blue says.

“I’m fine, Blue,” he tells her. “I don’t mind being home by myself.”

“I know you don’t,” she says, her eyes flashing,”but I also know you feel like shit, and being here alone won’t change that.”

“Neither will that cast party,” Adam huffs.

“Maybe not,” she says, “but a change of scenery will do you some good.”

"I don't feel like being social; you know that," Adam says. He can feel his anxiety escalating.

“That’s incredibly obvious,” Blue says, rolling her eyes. “Look, just make an appearance, say hi to a few people, then you can come back home. The party is within walking distance - in fact, Gansey’s parking here and we’re both walking over.”

Adam tries for puppy-dog eyes but doesn’t quite make it.

“You don’t have to stay long, I promise.”

How she manages to look both imploring and commanding Adam can’t understand.

He hangs his head, then mumbles “Fine, I’ll go,” into his cereal bowl.

Blue hugs him almost before he finishes his short, resigned reply.

“We’ll leave around 6:30,” she says, kissing the top of his head, grabbing her keys, and heading out the door.

~~~

Adam gets back to the apartment just after 8:00. The wave of relief that sweeps over him in the cool darkness nearly makes him cry.

He knows Blue and Gansey will stay here tonight, and he's so tired from the talking and the loud music and large crowd that he decides to give up and turn in now, hoping sleep will claim him sooner rather than later.

His mind roams over the brief time he spent at the party. 

His primary activity for the evening had been searching faces for Ronan's. Adam wasn't sure he wanted to be face to face with Ronan, but keeping an eye out for him was only part self-defense. 

If Ronan was here, Adam had decided as he looked from one face to the next, he wanted to try to talk to him. He didn't know what to say beyond apologizing for his paralysis in the restaurant, but he could at least address that. And if the conversation was allowed to continue, maybe Adam could apologize for, or explain what happened, that night in New York. Even if he still feels skittish about his attraction to Ronan, Adam needs to try to apologize. For his own sake. Maybe if he can do the emotionally mature thing he can leave thoughts of Ronan alone and eventually get some sleep.  

Adam is exhausted by the stalemate with Ronan. He needs to move forward, even if it kills him. 

After thirty minutes of searching and failing to find Ronan, he gave up.

Now he lays in the dark, considering what it might be like to talk to Ronan. If Ronan would be willing to talk. When it might happen. Where. 

As he formulates what he might say, he slips into a dreamless sleep.

Adam wakes just after 1:00, then embarks on his usual sleepy stumble to the bathroom.

When he wanders into the kitchen, he encounters Gansey.

"I'm sorry," Adam tells Gansey when he startles, water bottle in hand, "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Gansey laughs quietly. "No worries, Adam."

“Are you just getting back from the party?” Adam asks, filling a tumbler with water.

"Yes, it was quite a night," Gansey says, shaking his head in amazement. Then his tone shifts from camaraderie to concern. "You didn't stay very long, though’

Adam takes a long drink, then shakes his head. "No, I didn't stay long. I wasn't feeling very social." He shrugs ruefully.

“Mmm,’ Gansey hums, nodding again, “I should have told you he wouldn’t be there,” Gansey says.

Adam frowns. "Who?" he asks, although he's pretty certain he knows who Gansey means.

“Oh, I wasn’t clear. I meant Ronan.”

Adam gives a curt nod and takes another drink.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you up,” Gansey says, backing up a few steps.

Adam and Gansey look at each other for a few silent moments before Gansey smiles, says, “Good night, Adam,” and turns toward Blue’s door.

“Gansey?” Adam asks. His voice is barely audible, and for a moment he thinks Gansey may not have heard him.

Gansey turns around. “Yes?” he asks Adam.

Adam clears his throat and takes a moment to find the right words, “Is Ronan still upset? You mentioned that something was bothering him.”

Gansey considers briefly, then says, “He still seems distressed, yes.”

“Has he said why he’s upset?” 

Gansey cocks his head. “I’ve tried. I’ve asked. But he has yet to open up.”

Adam sighs in the darkness. After a moment he says "Something happened between us - between Ronan and me - in New York." 

Gansey's concerned expression returns. "Did you two fight at the hotel?"

“Not exactly,” Adam says. “We...kind of made out.”

Adam can feel heat in his cheeks. He trusts the darkness to hide his high color from Gansey. He hates himself a little for offering this information to Gansey, particularly after telling Blue he couldn’t discuss this. But it’s the only way he can think of to move forward from this mess.

“Oh.” The single syllable from Gansey sounds both curious and cautionary.

"I panicked and walked away from him," Adam says, the misery in his voice apparent even to him. His gaze drops to the floor.

“Oh,” Gansey says again, this time suffused with understanding and a bit of fear.

“You saw him at the restaurant,” Adam continues, looking up again. “Do you think there’s any way he would talk to me? Let me explain...or apologize...or something?” 

After a moment, Gansey says “I think he might, yes.”

“Might?” ‘Might’ is a more frightening answer than Adam expected.

“If he was interested enough to, um, engage physically with you,” Gansey clears his throat before continuing," and given his recent outburst, I think he could be open to a discussion, yes.”

Another thought occurs to Gansey, and he says “It will likely depend on how hurt he’s feeling now.”

“If he feels very hurt he won’t talk to me?” Adam guesses.

“That’s possible, I’m afraid,” Gansey says, his voice grave.”But, Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you should try. I haven’t understood why he’s been so troubled, but you’ve just shed a great deal of light on that.” 

Gansey considers for a long moment."In fact, I think you should try right now." He digs into his pocket.

“In the middle of the night?”

“Ronan wasn’t at the party tonight because he’s been in D.C. with his brothers this weekend. He usually returns from those excursions in the wee hours.” 

Gansey drops something in Adam’s palm. Keys.

“Keys to the loft and the Pig. Drive over and talk to him.”

“Are you serious?” Adam’s pulse starts to race.

Gansey nods. "Yes. Talking to him in private will more effectively bypass his defenses, which can be considerable."

Adam blinks.

“I think now is the time, Adam. I didn’t understand his ferocity at dinner the other night, but I think I do now. Thank you for that.”

Adam doesn’t miss Gansey’s genuine gratitude for the key he’s just been given to Ronan’s lock. Adam tucks that away to consider later.

Gansey claps him on the shoulder. “Just talk to him, Adam. This situation can’t possibly get worse.”

Adam thinks this might be the most absurd advice he's ever received. He wonders how much Gansey had to drink at that party.

"Um," Adam stammers. "Okay." He continues nodding, an attempt to convince himself to do this, “I’ll try.”

“Good man,” Gansey says. “I’m sure I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. Or later, actually.” 

Gansey salutes Adam, then turns toward Blue’s room once again.

Adam throws on his favorite jeans and a dark green t-shirt, pockets Gansey's keys and his own then steps out into the night in search of the Pig.


	22. Not Throwing Away My Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam waits in the loft for his opportunity to talk to Ronan

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Parrish,” Adam tells himself as he parks the Pig with care in the ground level parking garage. He’d driven two miles under the speed limit, on high alert, extra careful with Gansey’s precious car.

When he shuts the engine off, his heart is knocking so fiercely in his chest it’s nearly audible. He runs his fingers through his hair before exiting the Pig. The sticky night air molds to his form.

He can’t see Ronan’s BMW; maybe he’s managed to arrive before Ronan’s returned? Maybe he’ll have more time to settle on what he needs to say.

Adam is seized with apprehension as he climbs the stairs to the loft. Part of his brain is panicked,  insistently whispering to him to stand down, go home, leave this alone. A small but mighty part of his brain counters these desperate messages, telling him this is the right thing to do, this needs to happen, the only way out is through.

He keeps going, one step after another, even as he wants to retreat, until he’s standing in front of the loft door.

Adam closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the door. Then he takes a deep breath and knocks heavily.

His pulse is like cannon fire while he waits for a response. After endless minutes, he knocks again, more insistent, with the heel of his fist. Finally, his heart lurching, he fishes Gansey’s keys from his pocket and opens the door.

“Hello?” Adam calls loudly into the silence of the loft. The cool air makes him sigh with relief. The stillness here is perfect. Nothing stirs, no one answers back.

Some of his anxiety sluices away as he takes a seat on the couch. If Ronan isn't back yet, Adam has time to formulate a best approach, to carefully choose the words he'll say when Ronan walks through that door. Adam is afraid Ronan might bolt right back out without giving him the opportunity to talk; he needs to get Ronan’s attention.

As he sorts through possibilities, he lays his head on the back of the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He decides on his opening line, then moves on to sort out what should come next if Ronan is willing. 

Just after he decides on point number three, he slips into sleep.

~~~

Ronan rubs his eyes and looks again. 

That is undeniably Adam Parrish sleeping with his head thrown back on Gansey’s couch.

Ronan’s feelings immediately tangle and knot. 

Confusion is the first thing to shoot through him, then anger and resentment; but those feelings are momentarily overwhelmed by some mindless rush of warmth.

Adam’s too-long hair is rumpled and unruly. His face is mostly relaxed, except for the tiny crease between his eyebrows. The way his lips are parted might do strange things to Ronan if he continues to look. 

He stands there watching Adam sleep a little too long. Then he slams the loft door shut.

Adam startles awake, sitting forward on the couch, his eyes wild and disoriented until they rest on Ronan. Then his expression shifts into something odd and convoluted that Ronan can’t place.

"Ronan,” he says, standing to his feet, scrubbing a hand through his disordered hair. 

“Parrish,” Ronan rasps, one eyebrow arched.

Ronan doesn’t ask Adam what he’s doing there, doesn’t say anything at all. He crosses his arms over his chest as his scowl darkens and waits for Adam to speak.

Adam stares at Ronan for a long moment, before clearing his throat.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” he says. He seems to think about what he’s just said, shakes his head a bit, then says, “Not that you look startled,” and clears his throat again.

Ronan, resolute, watches Adam shift from foot to foot; it’s both infuriating and satisfying.

“Shit,” Adam breathes before making eye contact again. “Ronan, I’m here because I want to apologize. I’ve been avoiding you since New York, and - and that’s wrong. And I’m sorry.” 

Silence rushes in when Adam stops speaking, like rising flood waters.

Ronan hasn’t moved, has barely blinked. Outwardly he’s a cement wall. Inside, his thoughts and feelings riot.

This - Adam here in the loft, apologizing - is all he could have wanted a few weeks ago. But now? After weeks of avoidance, after  _ Cherise _ , after the way Adam reacted in the restaurant? Ronan aches with confusion and want and anger and doubt.

After an eternity, he nods.

“So,” Ronan says,”You broke into the loft to clear the air so being with Cherise will be less awkward.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t understand why Adam is bothering to apologize now, after he’s clearly moved on.

Adam’s face goes blank before he frowns. “I didn’t break in.” He digs out Gansey’s keys to show Ronan. “Gansey is staying at our apartment tonight. He - .” Adam hesitates for a moment, then continues, “He thought I should talk to you - about everything. He offered his keys and his car.”

Adam puts the keys back in his pocket and asks, “Cherise? What’s she got to do with anything?”

Ronan rolls his eyes, uncrosses his arms, and scoffs in disgust.

“Fuck, Adam, don’t pretend you aren’t with her.” He can’t even look at Adam now. Why does he have to apologize if he’s moving on with Cherise?  Ronan feels like an inconvenient pile of dogshit stuck to the bottom of Adam’s shoe.

“What?” Adam’s voice squeaks. “Cherise? What makes you think I’m with her?” 

“Jesus,” Ronan grumbles, his fierce gaze pinning Adam’s now. “I fucking saw you both. The night the power went out.”

Adam sputters out a dry laugh. “I’m not sure what you saw, but I haven’t seen or talked to Cherise since the day after I finished Greased Lightning. She asked me to look at her truck, and I did. That was it.”

Ronan responds with a grunt

“You’ve met her, right?” Adam asks archly. “We are not together. In any way.”

Some of Ronan’s ire melts away, which only makes him scowl harder. He’s surprised by how much he wants to believe Adam.  _ Fuck. _

“Christ,” Ronan says, running a hand over his shaved head - “What is it you want, Adam?”

Adam’s expression is inscrutable; he takes a deep breath. “I want to apologize for being a dick.” 

Ronan makes a low noise in his throat.

“For avoiding you since New York. For what happened in New York, I - .” Adam shakes his head. “Look,” Adam says, “Ronan - I’ve been trying to forget about you, to walk away. But I can’t.” 

Adam's eyes reflect his torment; Ronan can hear it in his voice, too.

"I can't get you out of my mind. I feel like shit for leaving you that night; I'm so sorry."

Adam sits down on the coffee table and puts his head in his hands, his fingers jammed into his hair. "The way things ended with Jared," he says, quietly, to the floor, "I decided not to indulge any more attractions."

Adam slides his fingers through his hair, then looks back up at Ronan. “I thought I needed to forget you, but I can’t.”

Ronan and Adam stare at each other. Ronan’s shallow breathing echoes in his own ears so loudly he thinks he might not catch anything else Adam says.  

Adam sighs, then says, "I realize I may have totally fucked this up and that you may have no interest after the way I've behaved but is there any way I could have a second chance?"

Ronan feels frozen; he can’t look away from Adam, and he can’t speak.

“Ronan?” Adam asks.

Ronan shakes his head. “So you’re just sorry you didn’t get a chance to sleep with me?” His voice is sandpaper, something dark lurking behind his eyes.

Shock ripples over Adam’s face. “That’s not what I’m trying to say, no.” He sounds appalled. He takes a moment before he goes on. “Ronan, no. I am  _ very  _ fucking attracted to you, but not just physically. I’m interested in all of you. I’m interested in more than a hook-up.”

Ronan can’t stand the sincerity of Adam’s expression, the want he sees there. He can barely breathe through his own want. He needs Adam to mean what he’s saying. 

Ronan doesn’t understand anything.

He tilts his head back, scanning the ceiling for a minute, before looking at Adam.

“Can I have some time to think about this?” he rumbles. “I need to think.”

Adam’s face seems to freeze. Eventually, he nods his head, his eyes glazing over. “Sure,” Adam says. “Of course.” He nods a few more times before he stands. He shoves his hands in his back pockets.

“I’m sorry for dropping this at your feet so suddenly,” Adam says. “It took me too long to realize what you meant to me.”

Ronan moves away from the door as Adam steps toward it.

“Goodnight,” Adam nearly whispers as he leaves the loft.

Ronan rests his forehead against the door, his heart rattling and shivering in his chest as he listens to Adams boots on the stairs.

~~~

Adam begins to thaw at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t remember the moments he spent taking the stairs down to the garage. The last thing he remembers is Ronan asking for time to think.

He had been so focused on what he needed to say to Ronan he hadn't considered how Ronan might respond. Adam's grateful he wasn't shut out, that he was able to say what needed to be said, but he realizes he was expecting a different response.

He trudges through the garage toward the Pig, numb with discouragement.

Adam pulls out Gansey's keys and slides one into the lock of the Pig's door.

“Adam!” 

He turns to see Ronan hurrying toward the Pig.

“Adam,” Ronan says again when he stops next to Adam.

Adam’s mouth is dust, and every nerve is taut.

“I’ve thought about it,” Ronan tells him. “And I - “

Ronan reaches a tentative hand toward Adam’s face. Adam holds his breath and closes his eyes for a moment as Ronan’s thumb gently brushes his hair out of his eyes. The light touch of Ronan’s warm palm cupping his cheek makes Adam tremble.

“Come back to the loft?” Ronan asks, his voice thick, his eyes soft.

Adam nods, pressing his cheek into Ronan’s palm.

They walk together toward the stairwell, shoulders bumping, neither of them speaking.

~~~

Ronan nudges the door shut with his foot, then sinks onto the bench by the door to remove his boots.

Self-consciousness ripples through his stomach in the stillness of the loft. The sky remains black and relentless in the huge window. He and Adam could be the only two people on earth.

“Can I get you something?” he asks Adam. “Water? Soda?”

“Coffee?” Adam asks. Adam’s whole body looks interested in Ronan’s response.

“Yeah,” Ronan nods. “Let me start it.”

When Ronan heads into the kitchen, Adam takes his place on the bench, removing his own boots before reclaiming his seat on the couch.

Ronan bumps around in the kitchen until the coffee maker grunts and the carafe begins to fill with dark promise.

“Cream? Sugar? Baileys?” Ronan aks.

Adam smirks to himself. “Black. Please.”

Ronan brings two steaming mugs with him, setting them on the coffee table. He sits sideways on the sofa, turned to face Adam, his legs crossed. He watches Adam take the mug from the table, blow away the rising steam, then take a cautious sip. Adam’s either used to drinking scalding-hot coffee or his tongue is galvanized. He notices Adam’s hands wrapped around the mug; long fingers, large knuckles. He remembers holding those hands, wrapping them during the first boxing lesson. Something flutters behind his breastbone.

Adam replaces the mug on the table then sits back to consider Ronan. 

“Coffee’s good,” Adam says. His eyes say other things that Ronan wants to hear.

“So,” Ronan says, frowning a little, “You’re sure? About you and Cherise?”

Adam snorts. He. Snorts. “Yes,” he tells Ronan with a lopsided grin. “Very.”

Ronan looks at the space between the sofa cushions, nodding, diverting the hurt and jealousy he’s carried around away from Cherise.

“Hey,” Adam says.

Ronan looks up to meet his gaze.

“Nothing there,” Adam tells him. “Just my Boy Scout routine.” Adam reaches over to rest one of his hands on top of Ronan’s.

Ronan makes an agreeable noise in his throat. He turns his hand over under Adam’s so they touch palm to palm. “I’m pretty fucking interested in hearing more about this Adult Boy Scout thing,” he says with a wicked smile.

He bends forward, brings Adam’s knuckles to his lips to kiss. Adam’s breathing hitches and his eyes widen.

Ronan sits up, their hands suspended weirdly in front of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, “I should have asked.“

Adam shakes his head, “Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he tells Ronan, dropping the “g,” bending forward, pressing his lips to Ronan’s.

It’s chaste, sweet, maddening. Until Adam’s tongue skims Ronan’s lips then slides inside his mouth. Ronan gasps into the kiss, then Adam groans. Ronan wraps Adam in his arms. His fingers tangle in Adam’s wild hair, his hand splays along his spine.

Adam’s lips are unbelievably soft; he tastes like coffee and starlight and magic. Ronan never wants to stop kissing him.

When Ronan feels Adam tremble, he pulls back and strokes Adam’s hair, breathless.

“Are you okay? Do you need to stop?”

Adam looks deeply and directly into Ronan’s eyes. “I’m fine,” he says, smiling with his lips now that they aren’t kissing. Adam reaches up to run his thumb along Ronan’s cheek. Ronan’s pounding pulse skitters.

“You - do things, to me Ronan,” Adam says, his hand resting on Ronan’s knee. Adam’s voice is low, his gaze boring into Ronan’s like he wants to climb inside and stay.

Ronan hums. “Okay,” he tells Adam, his own voice is sandpaper. “But if you need to stop, or to leave, like - “  Ronan doesn’t finish that thought out loud.

Adam closes his eyes. “Ronan,” he breathes, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Ronan says. He knows Adam is sorry for leaving, but he has no idea what the fuck happened that night or why the hell Adam left.

Ronan brushes Adam’s hair out of his eyes.

“Was it something I did?” Ronan rumbles, half afraid of what Adam might tell him.

Adam shakes his head then grabs Ronan’s hand, lacing their fingers.

“I got overwhelmed - scared,” The pad of Adam’s thumb strokes the length of Ronan’s.

Ronan says nothing.

Sighing, Adam says “I panicked.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Jared drank too much. You’d been drinking that night, you’d told me about your own past, about brawling with your brother, and - “

Ronan’s whole body stiffens. He scowls to keep his bruised feelings from showing on his face. It’s his own fault. No wonder. He’d only meant to tell Adam how fucked up he’d been, past tense. But he’d given Adam the impression that he was just like the shitstain who hurt him. 

“Shit. Adam.” Ronan closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “ I never meant - I shouldn’t have -“

Squeezing Ronan’s hand, Adam says, “Don’t.”

With a groan, Ronan puts his head in his hands. “How can you stand to sit here?” 

Adam says, “Because I’m pretty sure I panicked for nothing.” He laughs softly, then adds, “Even after I watched you smash and kick things in the shop after we got back from New York.” Adam’s face is calm, his eyes clear. He’s wearing a small, secret smile.

Ronan’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “You saw that?” 

When Adam nods, Ronan drops his head, grunting in disgust, his fingers lacing behind his skull.

“I wanted to finish Greased Lightning so I’d never have to face running into you again. But when I got to the shop - “ Adam stops to think for a moment, “Destruction was in-progress.” 

“Jesus,” Ronan hisses, bolting up from the couch to pace by the window.

Adam looks on as he paces in silence until he stops to ask “How are you here?” Ronan glances at the door; it’s still shut, Adam’s still here, not halfway to the door or through the door. “You must have thought - how are you sure you panicked for nothing?”

“I  _ wasn’t _ sure until it hit me like a ton of bricks drivin’ over here,” Adam tells him, dropping the “g” again, his voice quiet, smooth, sure. “Gansey.”

Ronan tilts his head. “The fuck?”

Something lurks under Adam’s reticent smile. “Gansey. I realized that Gansey wouldn’t have much to do with you if you were anything like Jared.”

Ronan opens his mouth to speak, then changes his mind and closes his mouth.

“You told me he pestered you into therapy. I doubt he’d live with an abusive man, let alone be his best friend.” His voice goes quiet. “When I realized that, I knew I wanted another chance with you. I knew I wasn’t as damaged as I thought I might be.” Adam looks out the window before he meets Ronan’s gaze and continues. “We’ve both been through so much. And you’re so incredible. I don’t want to miss out on you.”

Adam flushes slightly, then grabs his coffee with both hands and takes a drink.

Ronan watches Adam replace the mug on the coffee table. Pressure builds in his chest.

He wants to tell Adam that violence is in his past. That he’s learned to channel it properly. That it no longer involves people. Apparently he will still destroy things, but only if he’s alone. Or believes he’s alone.

And he will tell Adam. They will talk about this. He wants this to work; Ronan’s willing to talk about this, willing to learn to talk about this. Right after he does something more urgent, more important.

As Ronan strides back to the couch, Adam watches his approach, eyes blue and round.

Ronan leans over, kissing Adam before his ass even lands on the couch. As they kiss, he gathers Adam into his lap; his hand snaking into Adam’s hair, Adam’s legs bracketing Ronan’s waist.

The kiss is famished, febrile, feral. 

Adam’s hands slide inside Ronan’s shirt at his waist, trembling there before easing upward to his ribs.

Both of them make small, helpless noises, gasp for breath.

When Adam’s hands move to Ronan’s chest, pushing him backward, Ronan breaks the kiss, gulping in air.

“My room?” Ronan rasps, his eyes wild.

“God, yes,” Adam pants.

Ronan takes his hand, yanking him off the couch and toward the stairs.

 


	23. Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Room Where It Happens

The bedroom door is barely shut before Ronan pins Adam against it, his mouth hard against Adam’s.  _ Coffee. Starlight. Magic. _

Adam’s hands clench in his tank top just above the hem, pulling Ronan’s hips against his.

Ronan’s palms, flat across Adam’s shivering stomach, drift upward; Adam bucks and groans into Ronan’s mouth when thumbs graze his nipples.

Ronan withdraws in an instant. When he whips off his tank top, Adam stills and stares. Adam’s hungry gaze sends a ripple of heat down Ronan’s spine.

The next instant he’s near again, so close, his fingers clutching the hem of Adam’s shirt, his eyes hooded and burning. “Can I?” Ronan asks.

Adam nods once before Ronan yanks the shirt over his head.

Adam shrinks inward, hunching his shoulders. His hands start upward to cover himself. He seems to catch what he's doing, then intentionally stands tall, dropping his hands to his sides, throwing his shoulders back.

Ronan’s eyes roam over the planes of Adam’s chest and stomach, drinking in the shape of him, the handful of physical scars he bears from his recent past. The moment of bravery Adam displayed dumps gasoline on the flames of Ronan’s desire.

He crushes Adam to him, shivering as their bodies collide, taking Adam’s mouth again. His hands run up along Adam’s sides, circle his shoulders, move back down.

As his lips glide along Ronan's, Adam's hands drift down Ronan's back then grip his hips. Glued to one another, their arousal all too obvious already, Adam pulls at Ronan's hips, grinding slow and careful against him, making it impossible for Ronan to comprehend anything else.

His entire body throbbing, Ronan navigates Adam backward until the bed impedes their progress.

His mouth moves to Adam’s neck, his hands to Adam’s fly. He swipes his thumb once over the button there before he runs a flat palm along the bulge underneath.

Adam throws his head back and groans before his knees buckle. He grabs Ronan’s arms to steady himself. Ronan pushes on Adam’s shoulders until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, then Ronan drops to his knees. 

Adam laughs softly; Ronan answers with a smile before tugging at Adam’s jeans. “Let me help you out of these?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, nearly two syllables, thick as molasses. Which goes right to Ronan’s dick.

Ronan strokes Adam once more before unbuttoning, unzipping. He’s burning and impatient; his hand slips inside Adam’s boxers. Both of them moan as the heel of Ronan’s hand circles just under the head of Adam’s cock.

Adam buries his head in the crook of Ronan’s neck, groaning “Ronan, Ronan, holy fuck.” Adam pants against his neck and Ronan nuzzles his cheek against Adam’s temple.

Adam lifts his ass when Ronan yanks at the waistband of his jeans, watching as everything gets stripped away.

Ronan can't breathe as he takes in the sight on his bed: Adam braced on his hands; his hair wild; his fevered cheeks and eyes; his slender, straining cock flush against his belly.

“Jesus, Mary.  _ Fuck _ ,” Ronan breathes, leaning forward to trail open-mouthed kisses along Adam’s chest.

When his hand moves down, skimming Adam’s length, Adam draws in a ragged gasp.

“Wait,” he says, taking Ronan’s wrist.

Ronan looks up.

“You,” Adam says. When he sees that Ronan doesn’t understand, he says “I want to see you.” 

Ronan smirks, then stands up. He watches Adam’s face as he unfastens his jeans and hooks both thumbs in his waistband. Wriggling his jeans and his boxers down over his hips and past his knees, he steps out of them and casts them aside.

When he stands up, he finds Adam's eyes again. They're black; blue irises swallowed up by enormous pupils. Ronan watches Adam's eyes drift down his torso to his hard cock, dark and twitching.

As Adam continues to stare, Ronan makes a self-satisfied noise, then wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself with a lazy fist. Adam’s avid gaze turns him on so fucking much.

“God damn,” Adam groans. “You’re gonna make me come.”

Moving forward, Ronan kneels in front of Adam again. One hand urges Adam’s knee out. 

“Not without touching you first,” he tells Adam, trailing the back of his fingers up and down Adam’s shaft. Adam arches his back and utters a heartfelt “Jesus God.”

Ronan lowers his mouth, using a flat tongue to lick a long stripe upward to Adam’s head. He braces himself with a hand on Adam’s thigh, feeling the quivering muscles under his palm.

Adam cups Ronan’s cheek; Ronan opens his mouth then closes his lips around the tip of Adam’s dick, moving his tongue in small circles just under the head. He feels Adam pulsing against his tongue.

When he looks up at Adam through long lashes, Adam is looking back, mouth open, chest heaving, his hand sliding to the back of Ronan’s head.

“Fuck, yeah,” Adam sighs. “Suck me, Ronan.”

Ronan does. 

He seals his lips around Adam and moves them down, his tongue slithering against the prominent vein; when he reaches the bottom, he pulls his mouth back up, skimming his tongue along the crown before descending again. And again and again and again.

Adam makes continual noise, low in the back of his throat, his hand cradling the base of Ronan's skull, his hips moving rhythmically in response. "Aww, God," Adam chokes out, "your fuckin'  _ mouth _ .”

Ronan moans around Adam, taking him deeper. Ronan’s mind goes calm and white in a surge of pleasure. He never wants to stop worshipping Adam with his mouth.

When Ronan increases his pace, he steals a glance at Adam, who is staring down at him.

“So hot, Ronan, fuck” Adam hisses, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing inside Ronan in a familiar way. “I’m gonna - ungh - Ronan, make me come.”

Ronan does.

Adam’s ass comes off the bed for a moment when he comes in Ronan’s mouth, his back arched, his stomach heaving, hoarse, gasping Ronan’s name with each spasm.

Ronan waits until Adam is spent, then pulls off with a filthy slurp. He sits back with his knees wide, stroking his own cock. Adam's breathing hard, his eyes devouring the sight of Ronan as his hand works. It doesn't take long for Ronan, cum spilling over his fist, his eyes locked with Adam's, grunting and trembling.

Ronan's limbs feel fizzy as he lurches to his feet, snagging a tissue from his nightstand before he collapses on his back next to Adam. He swipes the cum from his belly, then Adam passes him a second tissue for his hand.

When he's minimally clean, he pulls them both up on the bed. They lay facing each other, their eyes wide, their breathing still labored.

Ronan’s blissed out, more than any drug he’s ever experienced. More than anything he's ever experienced. 

He brushes the hair from Adam’s eyes, trails gentle fingers down Adam’s arm, rests his palm on Adam’s hip.

Adam leans in, taking Ronan’s mouth with his, kissing him ravenously, slotting his thigh between Ronan’s.

He stays the night in the loft but doesn't sleep.

In the morning, he calls in sick.


	24. Non-Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer after sophomore year.

When Adam returns to the room with a bucket of ice, Ronan’s expensive black dress shirt is draped over the back of the desk chair, his black pants folded and thrown across the seat. The shower is running.

Adam smirks to himself, placing the ice bucket on the desk.

They’d decided to walk back to the hotel from the theatre, the way he had only a year ago. It was muggy and sweltering tonight, just as it had been then. He couldn’t blame Ronan for wanting to clean up. 

Adam still couldn’t believe Ronan had done this; Hamilton tickets for the same weekend they had first attended the show together. Tonight, Adam hadn’t worried about touching Ronan in the theatre. The second the house lights dimmed to start the show, Ronan had leaned in to kiss him fiercely, liquefying Adam’s heart.

Adam removes his own shirt, a lilac one that Ronan likes to see him wear, then puts it on a hotel hanger. He hangs his dark grey pants next to the shirt. 

The humid warmth of the bathroom heats his chilled skin. 

Adam steps into the shower, watches water sluice over Ronan’s inked back, the muscles under his tattoo rippling as his hands run over his skull.

Adam stays out of the spray until Ronan turns to find him. 

“About fucking time,” Ronan rumbles, stepping back from the spray wearing a hungry smile.

He takes Adam’s hand, ushering him under the shower head. He sinks his fingers into Adam’s hair, letting the water soak in. Adam hums and tilts his head back into Ronan’s hands.

Ronan finds the shampoo and works it into Adam’s hair. 

Adam loves the feel of Ronan’s fingers in his hair; Ronan never passes up an opportunity to do the shampooing. 

Ronan leans in as he works, one slick hip pressed against Adam’s ass. He works the shampoo longer than necessary for basic cleanliness, fingers roaming over familiar terrain, but neither he nor Adam cares. 

Adam feels Ronan’s hands move from his hair to his shoulders, turning him around. Ronan guides Adam’s hair under the water, tilting Adam’s head slightly back, using his hands to rinse the shampoo away from Adam’s face. Adam feels the suds and warm water course down his back, across his ass. He closes his eyes and shivers.

Ronan’s close enough to feel Adam’s shiver. One of Ronan’s knees is between Adam’s, cocks close to thighs. Adam wonders if Ronan realizes he’s rutting subtly as he finishes rinsing Adam’s hair.

When Ronan’s hand rests at the back of his neck, Adam opens his eyes. He finds Ronan’s fiery gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. Adam closes the scant distance between them, wet chests, bellies, and thighs sliding easily against each other; he finds Ronan’s lips with his. 

They tangle together, relaxed in the heat, their kisses languid and searing.

When they stop for a moment to take in air, Adam kisses the shell of Ronan’s ear then whispers, “Let’s dry off.”

Ronan huffs. “Shower sex not your thing, Parrish?’ His smirk is filthy.

Adam cocks an eyebrow and smirks back. “Something I want to do,” is all he offers.

Ronan shuts the water off as Adam exits the shower; he grabs two towels, handing one back to Ronan as he emerges.

Adam watches Ronan dry off. He never tires of looking at Ronan: his defined muscles, that hot tattoo, those damned eyes.

Ronan - bent over, toweling off his calves - catches Adam’s gaze. He drops his towel, turns his ass toward Adam, and grabs his ankles.

“This what you want to try?”

Adam drapes his towel over the rack then slaps Ronan’s ass on his way out of the bathroom. 

Ronan emerges a few moments later with a towel hanging precariously on his hips and a satisfied smile on his face.

Adam steps into Ronan’s space, gathering him close, picking up the kissing where they left off.

Ronan kisses along Adam’s jawline, progressing to his hearing ear.

“You wanted to try kissing me just outside the bathroom door?” he growls.

“Not exactly,” Adam admits, taking Ronan by the shoulders, turning him to face the floor-length mirror. Even in the low light, Adam notices when Ronan’s pupils enlarge.

He kisses Ronan’s neck, focusing on the pulsing vein there. Adam’s hands slip from Ronan’s shoulders to rest on his chest. Ronan bites back a moan.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Adam watches himself say into Ronan’s ear, “how much you like to watch my hands.”

“Jesus,” Ronan breathes. Then gasps sharply as he watches Adam’s thumb and forefinger pinch his nipple.

Adam drags his fingertips over Ronan’s chest while he sucks and bites at the base of Ronan’s neck. He’s pleased to find the flush on Ronan’s cheeks crawling down his throat.

Adam’s hands skim lower as he bites along Ronan’s trapezius.

“This towel was strictly necessary?” Adam murmurs against Ronan’s skin.

“I know how you like to unwrap me,” Ronan rasps just as Adam reaches the towel, sliding one hand inside. 

Ronan trembles; his head falls back with a sigh.

Adam tilts Ronan’s head back up. “You’re not watching.”

“Can’t watch,” Ronan says, his eyes drifting inexorably down as he arches into Adam’s palm, “Obstructed view.”

Adam hums, the pads of his fingers grazing Ronan beneath the towel, which is losing its hold on Ronan’s hips, exposing Adam’s fine wrist bone as it moves.

Adam watches Ronan’s hand drift upward, reach behind. His fingers slide into Adam’s hair, tightening, tugging. Adam makes a noise low in his throat at the same time Ronan issues a quiet grunt. 

There’s something about watching Ronan watch his hands that makes hot embers glow in his chest.

Watching Ronan’s face in the mirror, Adam places two fingers against his lips. Ronan’s gaze jerks upward, stopping at his mouth, at Adam’s fingers pressing there. Molten eyes shift up slightly until Ronan’s impudent stare bores into Adam’s. Ronan’s lips open and Adam’s fingers slide in. Ronan’s stare intensifies, if that’s even possible, as his tongue works along Adam’s fingers. How is his mouth so hot?

Adam stops the movement of his hand under the towel long enough to yank it open. Slipping from Ronan’s hips, Adam feels it pool across his feet. Adam’s gaze drags down Ronan’s chest to where his uncovered erection strains. “Fuck,” Adam whispers.

He finds Ronan’s eyes have never left his. Adam presses his fingers deeper, to the second knuckle, before pulling out. He holds his palm in front of Ronan’s mouth until Ronan licks it, slow and sloppy.

Gripping Ronan’s hip, he takes Ronan in his slick hand and strokes.

Ronan’s watching now, his back arched, his shoulders against Adam’s chest, one hand behind him, his fingers digging into Adam’s thigh.

“So hard,” Adam croaks, his mouth gone dry. If Ronan likes watching Adam touch and stroke and handle him, Adam likes to watch Ronan respond. The rise and fall of his chest. The helpless squirm. The soft and vehement profanities. 

Ronan’s hips thrust to meet Adam’s strokes. Adam moves his hand from Ronan’s hip, trailing up to his chest, the palm flat, pressing Ronan tight against him.

Ronan’s not the only one who’s hard. Adam’s dick twitches where it rests against Ronan’s ass. 

Adam wants Ronan so goddamn much. The ache pounds inside him. After a year it’s still hard to fathom sometimes that he gets to touch and stroke and love Ronan Lynch. But he does. He gets to love Ronan Lynch.

“Your goddamn hands,” Ronan groans as Adam’s thumb circles his head. Ronan breathes raggedly. He reaches around to drag a clumsy finger along Adam’s erection. “Fuck me, Parrish.” It’s almost a whine. “Fuck me right now.” 

Adam watches Ronan sink to his knees right where he stands. When Ronan begins to stroke himself, Adam smacks his ass before retrieving a condom from the nightstand.

Adam sinks to his knees behind Ronan once he’s ready. He kisses Ronan’s neck until Ronan turns back to kiss Adam, deep and hungry. 

Breaking the kiss, Adam grabs a handful of Ronan’s ass, places his hand between Ronan’s shoulder blades and pushes him toward the floor. 

He uses one hand to line himself up, then sinks slowly inside Ronan. A groan pushes out of Adam’s throat; he feels Ronan groaning beneath him. Ronan’s arm hasn’t stopped moving, stroking.

Adam traces the patterns on Ronan’s inked back for a moment before using both hands to grip Ronan’s hips; then Adam starts to move. 

Ronan is watching him in the mirror, black and holy curses falling from his lips.

Adam leans back on one arm, thrusting a little faster, his hips rolling urgently, watching Ronan come apart. Adam pants, punctuating the litany of Ronan’s curses with “Jesus,” or “Fuck,” or a holy “Ronan.”

When Ronan starts breathing Adam’s name, Adam knows he’s close. Ronan’s gorgeous, vulnerable form; the fiery heat of him; his fierce and overwhelming response; Adam makes himself focus on Ronan before he comes too soon.

Adam yanks Ronan’s hips back, his fingers digging in. He shifts himself a bit, reaching the spot that makes Ronan cry out with each thrust.

“God. Adam. Fuck. Fuck. Jesus.” His voice is raw, hoarse. Fucked.

Ronan’s face and shoulders are flushed. When he meets Adam’s gaze in the mirror, Adam loses himself in those eyes; he moves faster and deeper inside Ronan until Ronan is coming, grunting Adam’s name.

Watching Ronan come ignites Adam’s orgasm. He leans over Ronan’s back as his own pleasure rolls inside him.

They stay together in a heaving heap on the floor for a moment, Adam’s arms wrapped around Ronan.

“Adam,” Ronan croaks.

Adam sits up on his knees. He strokes Ronan’s back as Ronan rises, first to his knees, then to his feet. Ronan holds his hand out to Adam, which Adam takes then gets to his feet.

Ronan takes Adam in his arms and kisses him, his fingers clutched in Adam’s hair. Adam’s heart spasms. This man. This incredible man.

“Adam,” Ronan says again in a particular way. His voice is heavy and earnest and deliberate. His gaze is shameless.

Adam cups Ronan’s face, his thumb stroking Ronan’s cheek. 

“I love you, too,” Adam whispers. “Come to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for over a year. That should probably tell you something. 
> 
> I plan to update daily until all the chapters are posted.
> 
> I also know much more about golf cart repair and maintenance than I find necessary to know. Thanks, DIY Golf Cart Garage.
> 
> I am so grateful for my beta readers.  
> @theronancycle was fearless, dedicated, fierce, insightful and just more amazing than I could ever have hoped.  
> @substanceparty stepped in at the 11th hour for the dirty work. Your insights were absolutely invaluable.  
> I couldn’t have finished this without either of you. I owe you so much.


End file.
